


The Fighter & The Crimelord

by Mirdala



Series: Blackwatch Boxing AU [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Yakuza, Blood and Violence, Brief mentions of other OW characters, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, One-shot expanded, POV Multiple, Past Boxer!Reyes, Past Soldier: 76 | Jack Morrison/Reaper | Gabriel Reyes, Slow Burn, Streetfighter Jesse McCree, Yakuza Hanzo Shimada, Yakuza and streetfighter AU, blame the fanart, boxing au, preemptively tagging
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-22
Updated: 2018-05-08
Packaged: 2019-02-05 09:12:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 24,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12791388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mirdala/pseuds/Mirdala
Summary: Jesse got back into the illegal ring of street fighting when he swore he wouldn't. But times are hard. Then the stakes are raised when Hanzo Shimada stops by the locker room before the fight.





	1. Round 1

**Author's Note:**

> Because sometimes you just see an image and your brain won't let go of it.  
> Unbeta'd. If you find a booboo let me know. I'll change the tags if this expands.... but for now no major warnings.  
> Enjoy.
> 
> **Tags have changed!**

God he hates this locker room. Jesse always expects a locker room to stink. A heavy sweaty musk. Maybe with a twinge of iron from bloody hands or a face. Not here though. It’s clean and dowsed in cleaning product fumes. And dark. Sets the hairs on the back of his neck on edge. What the fuck has he gotten himself into.

 _Trust me._ Genji’s voice bounces in his head as he digs his thumb and finger over his eyelids. _No one will be expecting this! Just think, Jesse, Deadeye, McCree, southpaw cowboy from America taking down—_ Genji’s laugh had broken what he was going to say. _They will all be so pissed. Some gaijin beating their champ._

Genji had set this whole thing up using his family name, Jesse understands, to get his desires. Gabe had warned him. Told him to stay away from Genji. An impetuous hedonist. It wasn’t worth the trouble or the payoff. Granted the money was good. Hell, it was better than the last two years of fighting legally put together. Yet it was still just a bonus. The fighting kept Jesse hooked. Gabe calls him an addict. Genji saw it in him. Everyone has their vice. This was Jesse’s. The adrenaline in his blood. The steel in his fists. The spring in his footwork. He loves it. Loves the impact of his fists against some poor unfortunate soul. Then it would come to a peak in the blink of an eye. In those moments everything around Jesse stilled and the world faded of color, there was only the shots he took to the body across from him. Quick and powerful. Devastating. Guaranteed knock outs. He lived for it. The money and cheers were just the cherry on top.

Now at the behest of his addiction he sits on a bench in a clean locker room.

He misses the turn, the click of the door handle. He only looks up when light and sound blare into the locker room.

_Oh fuck._

Jesse holds a carefully crafted look of mild disbelief on his face as Hanzo Shimada, heir to the Shimada Empire, walks in then closes the door to the locker room cutting off the sounds of the crowd’s shouts and the thuds of flesh pounding into flesh. Knowing Hanzo by only reputation and Genji’s choice few comments, Jesse wisely avoids raking his eyes down Hanzo’s form. But keeping his eyes up on the face before him makes his stomach twist into knots. A mixture of straight nerves and awe. The light from the cracked doorframe highlights Hanzo’s high cheekbones and strong jawline as he sweeps the small locker room. His eyes reflect the light just enough to make them shine.  Long black hair catches the light to form a silhouette.

“My brother favors you, cowboy.” Jesse for once in his life keeps his mouth shut. “Genji foolishly used influences he, himself hadn’t cultivated. Now my name is tied to yours.”

Jesse swallows, his grip on the water bottle in his taped hand tightens as the seriousness of his situation comes into light. In the criminal underworld reputation was everything, whether it was a biker gang or a yakuza family. The bigger and in this case the older the organization the higher the stakes. A sullied reputation has consequences for the transgressors and the outfit they belong to. A Boss wouldn’t tolerate being slighted. It became a matter of a debt. Of duty. Of respect. Of honor.

Paid in blood.

Slowly the lines that painted Jesse into a corner appeared. Similar to the lines he crossed as punk kid. Who thought he was above it all because he could deal out punches faster, with more power than anyone under Deadlock’s colors. The raid that stormed the warehouse had saved him from those lines connecting. Locking him in a box that would become his coffin.

Gabe snatched him up.

Jesse cleaned up.

For a while.

But when old habits can provide fast cash for his new family and home during a time of crisis….

Jesse lets out a breath. His shoulders shake with his mirthless laugh bouncing off the tiled walls. Gabe is going to kill him. Bedridden or not. He will find out. All knowing asshole that he is. And when he does find out how fucking far Jesse has gotten himself out of his depth, he will kill him. He wasn’t called Reaper for nothing.

Hanzo doesn’t go on about odds and money. How it isn’t about the money but his name, his family’s name his brother has put into a precarious position. The look on Jesse’s face made it clear to Hanzo, further explanation wasn’t required. He remains a few feet from the door, satisfied his point has been made easily. Because in the end, regardless of the outcome of the fight, it won’t be Hanzo’s black tailored suit that will have Jesse's blood on it by the end of the night.

Right. Jesse steels himself. Time to nut up. He stands. Hanzo doesn’t even try to hide the way he drags his eyes over Jesse. His anxious butterflies swap out for lustful ones. Just his luck. Had it been any other time. Maybe a quick win will have him in Hanzo’s favor. Might take a round or two to work himself up. But a knock out was well within his capabilities.

“Well then,” Jesse inspects the tape on his hands, “how about a kiss for luck?” Hanzo’s smile has Jesse raise an eyebrow. The butterflies doing laps in his gut go all the faster. Beauty like that should be a crime. Having an equal measure of danger mixed in, doesn’t seem fair to everyone else walking the world.

Jesse doesn’t let the low rumblings of laughter deter him. If anything, it dares him to press on. Hanzo turns to leave.

"You should know this though." He says as the door opens, the cacophony enters again. Standing in the frame haloed by the floodlights from the ring, Hanzo looks over his shoulder to Jesse, smile still hanging on his lips.

Jesse stands dumbstruck for how long he doesn't know. Not too long since no one has come to get him but long enough. Hanzo's parting words stab into his chest. Freeze him on the spot. Bile rises into his throat.The words echo louder in his ears than the mayhem behind a door five feet away.

_The fight is to the death._


	2. Round 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabe is there for when Jesse comes home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Few quick things.  
> 1- Omnic Criss didn't happen but there was still pretty much a world war.  
> 2- Next chapter might be a while. Got a test this weekend coupled with holiday gluttony.  
> 3 - Unbeta'd so forgive my errors.  
> 4- Tags have been updated and will change as this progresses

A dark grey expanse of sky with rumbling thunder, lightning flashing in the distance would have fit Gabe’s mood to the letter. Instead the universe gifts him a bright blue sunny sky to defy Gabe’s temperament. Behind his scowl, he’s grateful for the clear skies. A storm would have delayed the incoming flight. They weren’t at an airport in the traditional sense. Nothing near the experience of LAX. Upon arrival Gabe had let out a disdainful scoff. A hanger to hold one Cessna, two if some skilled maneuvering happened, a building with the tower above it, and a landing strip.

The private airfield keeps to itself, not necessarily off the books but definitely not used by the general public in any capacity. He did his research. The attendants greet him by name when Gabe and Sombra, his designated driver, walk in. His cane thunks against the marbled floor. No security. No customs agents. No ID checks or metal detectors. An attendant ushers Gabe and Sombra to the bar, tells them the bartender will make anything they want, hands over a menu of food, and informs them the plane would land within three-quarters of an hour. Sombra has the decency to say thank you. Once she sees the menu her eyes go wide and a snort escapes. The bottle of scotch, nearly three times Gabe’s age and worth four times his yearly income, offered highlights how out of their tax bracket they are.

After the war Gabe went back into his old neighborhood and opened up a boxing gym courtesy of a VA business loan. Blackwatch Boxing Gym, his pride and joy. Aside from the people in his life that is. He focused on outreach programs. Pulling kids out of gangs and fight clubs to train in his gym. Wasn’t long before Gabe had an army of his own. He focused his fighters into doing charity work. Helping those in the area. A drop in crime had the boys in blue at his door. Luckily a brother in arms was the one who came knocking.

Detective Jack Morrison and Gabe shot the shit for hours. It was just like old times. Now Gabe helps out, in discrete ways, in taking down gangs. Underground fights were an opportunity, a chance to catch wanted gang members, even leaders, when they weren’t expecting it. A hub of activity. Drug deals, illegal gambling, human trafficking. A joint effort of four states. Gabe helped gather the intel by being at the fights. Jack led the raid. That’s how Jesse came into Gabe’s life. He saw the fire in his eyes and knew what would happen if this boy went to prison.

Jesse stayed on the straight and narrow. Helping train fighters. Got Fareeha in shape to compete and win a full ride to college. Played dummy for all of Angela’s sports medicine classes. Rarely getting into the ring. Maybe to serve an up and comer some humble pie. But unless Gabe set up the fight Jesse was happy to be a corner man.

Then Gabe got sick.

Gabe rose to glare out the window. In the distance, he sees the speck of a plane destined to land maybe 50 feet from him. Less when he steps past the sliding glass doors of the lounge/bar/gate entrance onto the tarmac. Gabe refuses to remain seated while he waits, despite all the warnings he was given by his doctor about taking it easy.

He shouldn’t even be out of the house, having just been cleared of bed rest. Gabe’s scowl deepened. It was because of his illness Jesse decided to lie to his face. _Heard from a buddy ‘bout a construction gig, lastin’ a few weeks up in Montana. Pays a purdy penny._ _Som and everyone else can keep an eye on things._ All to help with the medical bills. Bills that were none of Jesse’s responsibility. It was Gabe’s genetic degenerative disease. It was his shoulders that had to bear the burden. It was his failure to protect them from his condition. It was his fault Jesse went back into the ring.

“Won’t be long now, huh?” Gabe grunts a reply. “I know you’re mad. But may—“

If looks could kill, Sombra would have died that instant. She turns away smartly, ceding to the bar, taking advantage of their free pass to anything offered. She pulls out her phone, Gabe already knows what she is going to do. There isn’t any sound but Gabe doesn’t need it. He watched the video on repeat the entire drive here. He’ll know it by heart for the rest of his life.

Midday yesterday, Gabe received a phone call from North Wind Airlines to notify him of Jesse McCree’s flight arrival from Japan and the location of the airfield. Gabe called and texted and bellowed into Sombra’s voicemail until she came over to his house from the gym, laptop in hand. Jesse had for the most part been radio silent for the last two weeks. He told Gabe not to worry. That he probably wouldn’t have reception and would be exhausted from working. Sombra did some hunting around and uncovered some information that made the pit in Gabe’s stomach wider and bottomless.

“They are a subsidiary of a shell company that some clan uses.” Sombra looked to Gabe. “The Shimada-gumi. Yakuza?” Gabe didn’t even have to tell her to look into the underground fighting scene in Japan. It took her awhile which says something about the degree of security surrounding the fights. Gabe never left her side.

While the underground fighting community was far from its infancy in LA, the yakuza made it look like toddlers running around in a playpen. The barest of information escaped their clutches. As far as they could tell the Shimada-gumi didn’t have anything to do with the fighting. The allegations against them had to do with arms and drug trafficking. All unproven. What Sombra could find were short clips of fights. The video files were cleared of all source data. Only the footage remained. They were careful but Sombra is unrelenting. That night she showed Gabe a video of clips from various sources she pieced together. She tried to put it into order as best she could but it was difficult with no timers visible. She guessed, based on the condition Jesse was in.

It starts with Jesse bouncing from foot to foot keeping loose. The masked announcer spoke in Japanese gesturing to a man off screen. He turned to Jesse. Gabe understood only one word when Jesse was announced, _Deadeye_. The next clip was mid round and mid swing. Jesse bobbed back and to the side snapping a right jab to the man’s middle followed by a left elbow across his face.

Cut to Jesse’s right knee taking a hard kick making it buckle and fold. He dropped. His head snapped back when a roundhouse kick connected with a sickening thwack.

Jesse jumping back wide eyed when the man slashes into the air, the light glinting off the razor blades imbedded in hand wrappings.

Jesse and the man in a clinch. Shifting his weight Jesse throws the man to the side.

Jesse on all fours spitting out blood. A slash across his side has rivulets of blood collecting at his waist band.

Jesse against the ropes trying to block an onslaught of punches.

Like a switch flipping, Jesse has the upper hand. Gabe recognizes the bloodlust. The carefully contained raging storm. Underneath the bloody face Jesse’s eye pierce the man in front of him.

Then both men on the ground unmoving.

People cheering.

The video ends.

After years of fighting and coaching fighters Gabe could see clear as day the caliber of fighter Jesse had fought against.

A killer.

“North Wind flight zero-zero approaching for landing. Guests are welcome to wait on the tarmac.”

Gabe is out on the ramp way before the announcement finishes. A few minutes pass as the small cargo plane? Gabe squints at the frame of the plane. He fought in the war. He knows a cargo plane when he sees it. Not as sleek. Not as fast. Two hatches for entry rather than the common one for private planes. The shape reminds him of the planes he jumped out of, parachute strapped to his back, a prayer on his lips. Once parked the hatch opens. A flight attendant pokes their head out, dips back in before stepping down, duffel bag in one hand and something else in another.

“Mr. Reyes?” Gabe nods. “Here are his personal effec—” He offers the duffel bag and what turns out to be a brown cowboy hat.

“Where is he?” Gabe interrupts, when Sombra reaches for the items. The attendant stammers. Gabe blows past him. Another man emerges from the plane. Green hair in shocking contrast to the grey of the plane.

Gabe reaches for him and pulls him down the remaining two steps.

“Where is Jesse?” Gabe holds Genji in place by the lapels of his jacket, lifting him off the ground.

“Out the back!” Landing in a heap, Genji tries to reach out for Gabe. “Wait! Wait! I need to—”

From the back of the plane two other attendants are unloading a stretcher.

Gabe gets two more shaky strides before his muscles seize.

Legs extend from the bottom of it, locking into place.

Gabe’s knees buckle, going weak.

A metal box slides onto it.

Gabe crumples.


	3. Round 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hanzo's plans are put into motion. But nothing goes smoothly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had sometime between pies bakes!  
> Snobby Hanzo wouldn't leave me alone.
> 
> Unbeta'd. Written while in partial food coma. Forgive my errors.

Hanzo already has his hand around his phone when the announcer calls the victor of the fight. Genji’s cowboy collapses. If Hanzo didn’t have more pressing matters at hand, he would have enjoyed the sight. Now, however, wasn’t the time. He presses a button and a message is sent. The wheels he carefully placed prior to this predicament, begin to turn.

“See. I was right.” Genji lifts a small ceramic cup to his lips set in a smug tilt. Hanzo hummed in agreement as he pours into his own cup. This sake is far from his preferred, but he maintains the propriety to drink what was offered to him.

“Yes, brother, you were.” Hanzo laughs as he feels the eyes of the other men in the room boring into him waiting for him to voice his opinion. Genji, like a bird that gets caught in places it shouldn't be, flying around in circles, drawing attention to itself, dived into the fighting scene a few months back. He placed bets and got cozy with the ring leaders. Once it was known a Shimada was poking around, people became interested. Hanzo should have kept a better eye on his brother’s new interest. An extended absence in America, lulled Hanzo into a false sense of security, about his brother’s activities. A week after Genji’s return Hanzo started to hear about the fights. His brother was pitting his own fighter in them and winning. A new player, disrupting the order.

“You chose a good fighter.” Hanzo takes a long pull from his cup, looking each boss in the eye briefly. He reaches over and slaps Genji on the shoulder, playing on the rosiness of his cheeks for his boisterous demeaner. “Rather unimpressive and pathetic don’t you think brother? Their best can’t even defeat your…” He gestures dismissively to the cowboy being lifted, scoffing, “Least it was a good show.”

Genji sputters into his cup. Coughing while laughing. Hanzo sees the men in the room seethe with rage. Helpless to Hanzo’s remarks. He gives them a wide smile. They know Hanzo sees them as dogs with their tails tucked between their legs. Their chance to prove their relevance by embarrassing the largest and oldest yakuza family, falling flat on its face. Or rather dead in the ring. Their audacity to even attempt such a thing makes their shame all the sweeter to Hanzo.

Hanzo shifts his eyes to the ring, the cowboy is no longer present. “Rest assured gentlemen,” He rises from his seat, voice upbeat as he adjusts his suit, “it will only be my brother’s frivolous eyes gazing upon your disgrace of an organization.” A hostess places his jacket over his shoulders. Genji follows suit. Although Hanzo can see his brother would rather sit and let Hanzo deride the bosses more.

Hanzo’s smile drops once he steps over the threshold. He makes his way to the locker rooms with long purposeful strides. A short journey. The building holding the fight isn’t large. Just large enough to house a crowd, a VIP area, and the fighting ring. For the second time this night, he pushes the door open. More lights are on this time. Clearly showing the cowboy sitting slumped over on the bench as a woman looks him over. She has him follow a light with his eyes. Most of his injuries are patched up. The slash on his side is stitched. Must have been deep. His nose has tissue sticking out of it to stop the blood flow. Blues and deep purple patches on his skin are starting to form, edging out the initial red of irritation. His eyes are surprisingly not swollen shut. His bottom lip is cracked. Packs of ice lay on his head, knee, and left hand. He pauses in an answer when Hanzo and Genji enter.

“You son of a bitch!” Hanzo braces himself to defend but he isn’t the target. The cowboy lunges for Genji.

A growl deep in the cowboy’s chest erupts when he slams Genji against a wall. “YOU MADE ME A KILL A MAN!”

“Unhand. My. Brother.” The cowboy snarls when Hanzo steps closer, Hanzo replies with his own visceral shout. “NOW!”

 “I didn’t know it was a death match, Jesse.” Genji’s nearly whispers. Not in fear but in a tone to mollify a cornered animal. Hanzo watches Jesse’s eyes flit over Genji’s face. No one moves. Jesse drops Genji. In turn Genji reaches out to steady Jesse, who sways nearly tumbling over. Brows furrowing, Hanzo watches the way Genji leads Jesse back to the bench and doctor.

With care…

“I wouldn’t ever had agreed if it was a deathmatch. Jesse, come on, your family would kill me twice over if I did something like that.”

When had this relation happened? How did Deadeye become Jesse?

“I’m jus’ gunna stay down ‘ere ah minute. Collect myself.”

No. Hanzo shuts down the train of growing questions. There isn’t much time.

“We have to go. The plane is waiting.” Both Genji and Jesse look to him. Hanzo ignores their dumbfounded expressions turning to the doctor.

“Is he fit to fly?” The woman bows, muttering a greeting.

“There are not immediate signs of serious internal abdominal injury. Fractured possibly cracked ribs. But his left pupils is blown. Possibly a mydria—”

“Don’ you worry yer perdy lil’ head ‘bout that darlin’.” Genji rolls his eyes away at the same time Hanzo gives Jesse a disbelieving look. A blown pupil was usually the sign of serious cranial trauma.  A sign, growing up, Hanzo looked for in his rambunctious baby brother after some stunt.

“Jesse. You were kicked in the head.” Genji deadpans.

“Ain’t the first time.” Hanzo regrets not drinking the rest of the sake. “Deadeye thing. It’s fine.” The doctor gives her clearance for Jesse with reservations about how time may reveal more injuries. Jesse winces at the movement required to get dressed and takes the meds handed to him by the doctor.

Everyone notices the Shimadas leave the venue, their fighter in tow. A clear sign of disinterest, Hanzo wants expressed. A reminder of their station within their world. Well above everyone in the building.

“So wha’ happened? Other fights weren’t…” Jesse trails off, getting settled into the leather seats of the car. He’s looking at his hands intently.

Hanzo clenches his jaw. The Elder’s demanded blood for Genji’s flippant decisions involving the reputation of the Shimada-gumi being throwing around without a care. Used in circles they hadn’t approved of taking part in. Hanzo did everything in his power to ensure the message wasn't written in Genji’s blood.

He was the one to change the fight’s parameters. Hanzo takes a breath, closing his eyes.

“I changed it.” Hanzo snaps his eyes open expecting a punch. A roar of rage. A fight in the back seat of the car, as spacious as it was, wouldn’t be ideal but Hanzo knew he could manage. Plus the cowboy was already injured. He’s taken aback when he looks at the seat across from him.

Genji stares at him with his mouth parted. Eyes pained and questioning.

Then there’s Jesse, eyes rolling up, slipping into a seizure.


	4. Round 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jesse tries to figure out how he got to where he is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long as I have steam I'm going to keep going.
> 
>  Unbeta'd. If you find a booboo let me know. I'm off to devour a pie.

Jesse doesn't rightly know what the hell is going on.  He delves deep into the recesses of his mind to find an answer. He settles on blaming his early growth spurt. Deadlock members, who nearly raised Jesse, almost shot him dead when he came into the clubhouse after a few weeks of doing runs. Fifteen years old and standing a solid six feet tall. At the time he didn't understand why all his pants were suddenly short. Figured he selected the wrong cycle at the laundry mat. He wasn't even lanky. He packed on lean muscle as he stretched out. It was only his face that gave him away. Baby smooth cheeks trying with all their might to grow some hair. Jesse to this day still gets shit for it. Mostly from Sombra.

Jesse was quickly given to the Sarge, the man in charge of the Deadlock enforces. Everyone knew Jesse was already quick witted and footed. A scrappy little shit that could tumble out of the way and beat feet when his mouth got him in trouble. But now he had the physicality to shift his placating terms to threats, his habit of flight into fight. Shadowing the enforcers, Jesse learned the finer points of breaking fingers and using an ashtray against someone's skull.

To earn his membership patch, he was tossed in a ring. Jesse lost control. He killed the man. He earned his nickname. Deadeye. On account of him staring his opponent dead in the eye. Became dead to the world around him, a singular point of focus only in view. A series of six hits, each planned in the space between blinks and dealt out in quick succession, putting his opponent down, never missing their mark. But he didn't realize a bloodlust would erupt, ensuring his opponent never rose to their feet again.

From then on Jesse fought. He loved it. He trained so he wouldn't kill anyone again. That wasn't the point of the match, he was told. Can't make money if Jesse goes in killing in every fight. He grew close to the small group of enforcers. They showed pride in his wins. Two years reigning champ. Jesse felt like he finally found his place in the world.

It ended with a flashbang and a swat team.

Focused solely on the fight, he wasn't even aware of what was happening. The taste of blood in his mouth didn't even register. He had his opponent in a headlock driving his fist in the man's head over and over. Again and again. Boredom made him push the man away. To only stalk over.

He swears it was out of the darkness that another man appeared in front of him.

 This wasn't the ref.

Who the fuck does this guy think he is, block him from the bleeding man on the ground?

Standing in his way.

During his fight. 

In his ring.

Jesse's cracked lip broke open when he smiled. Fine. What's another KO under his belt. Jesse swung.

Nothing made contact on the new fighter. His fists were diverted, blocked, or swatted away. The man bobbed and weaved, always just out of reach. Jesse got mad. And sloppy. He lost control again.

The world lost all its color and the only thing he focused on was the man wearing a stupid beanie in front of him. He planned his shots. Then moved. It was like hitting mist. Jesse fumbled to get his bearings and feet under him. The man was no longer there. What the hell—

A fist dug into his gut. Jesse was thrown back like he was hit from a shotgun. But it didn't stop. His jaw was next. An uppercut. His ribs. A kidney shot. Low left and right hooks. The full forced punch to his sternum had Jesse flat on his back, mouth gapping, trying to stuck in air.

"Stay down." Like hell. Jesse got up spitting blood and gritting his teeth. His head was spinning from the lack of oxygen. His sight edged with darkness. The man stood feet away, going in and out of focus, like he was turning into a vapor, impossible to hit. Jesse had one more step in him before it all went black.

Gabriel "Reaper" Reyes, made a bargain on Jesse's behalf. Jesse didn't have a choice. In hindsight it was probably best with how much piss and vinegar filled Jesse at the time. Reyes took him, monitoring ankle bracelet and all, to California.

How Reyes put up with the shit Jesse gave him for the first few years, Jesse will never know. The patience of a saint, Saint Reyes. Jesse learned humility the hard way. Scrubbing the mats and locker rooms. Washing towels. Being the punching bag for whoever Reyes said. Years later it took days of shoving his pride down to thank Reyes for all he did for him. Reyes looked up from his paperwork and laughed.

"Ah come on, Reyes. I'm tryin' to show my gratitude! You can't go an' laugh." Gabe continues to laugh, even a little harder. Leaning back in the chair shoulders shaking.

"Sombra!" Reyes called out of his office between breaths.

"What?" Sombra calls back as she rolls in her chair past Reyes' office door, spinning in place to stop herself. Reyes' had pulled out his wallet in the mean time.

"You won." Sombra jumps and snatches the 50-dollar bill between his index and middle fingers.

"What?!"

"See, Gabi, I told you he wasn't an ingrate." Jesse turns to Reyes throwing his arm wide

"You shittin' me right now? Ya'll had a bet goin' about me tellin' Reyes—ya'll can go to hell."

Cackling still, Reyes crosses the office to Jesse resting his hands upon Jesse's shoulders. "I shit you not, Jesse, you're my favorite turd." It’s a bit of a tussle but Jesse finally gives into the hug Reyes wrestles him into. Sombra joins in because she can. There may have been tears. No one will ever admit it.

"Quick calling me Reyes, mijo."

The guilt seeps deep into Jesse as he comes back to the present. Luckily, it's much better of a time than the few times he popped in and out of consciousness after the car ride with the Shimada brothers. Jesse notices how eerily silent his surroundings are. He expected the vibrations and drone of plane engines. There's nothing. Jesse opens his eyes finding that doesn't really help his situation. Only a dim light illuminates the area. A few hard blinks bring things into focus.

He's in his room. In his bed. Next to which sits a man in a chair sleeping. Legs stretched out, arms crossed over his chest. Much like the light from the fighting ring, the yellow dim light outlines Hanzo's face beautifully.

A grin spreads across Jesse's face. Content blossoms in his chest as he nestles back in his bed, knowing someone beat him to the punch, literally.

The shiner on Hanzo's left eye sticks out proudly in the poor lighting.


	5. Round 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Genji struggles to get up the pieces of the plan that got blown to bits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just going to go and collapse over here...for a minute. This fic is wearing me out. I love it.
> 
> Anyway here's the next chapter!  
>    
> Thank you all for your comments. They keep me going. <3
> 
> Unbeta'd. If you find a booboo let me know.

“Gabe! Gabe, look at me!” Genji did the unthinkable, he slaps Gabe across the face. A desperate attempt to bring Gabe back to the present. Damn it. Genji should have prepared better for this. It’s not like he wasn’t warned. Sombra had lit his phone up during the flight back. He hadn't seen the messages. His phone was long forgotten in his jacket after being preoccupied with getting Jesse stabilized and a shouting match between him and Hanzo.

“This wouldn't have happened if you didn't change the fucking fight Hanzo!” Genji borderline hysterical.

“My fault!? Was I the one going around making outrageous claims about a cowboy fighter I brought back from America?” Hanzo sneered back. “Parading around like some—”

“I had it handled! We need,” Genji thumps his fist on the privacy partition, “to get to the nearest doctor. Now!” The driver looks at the two brothers in his rear-view mirror. At Hanzo for approval.

“We don’t have time. The flight to LA is—" Hanzo started to say. Genji cut him off again.

“HE IS MY FRIEND!” Genji screamed in Hanzo’s face. The outburst is well out of character for Genji. His usual manner of being smooth and cool as silk, nonchalance vaporizing with Jesse in his arms.  Now his eyes are wide and frantic. “I will never forgive you if he dies.” He stared Hanzo down. There's shock and a tinge of hurt in Hanzo’s frown and gaze. And for once, he won.

Hanzo directed the driver to the nearest doctor.

In every town, in every city there was a doctor connected to the clan. Genji would use them more often but while the doctors were discrete to outsiders, they were an open book to the Elders and Hanzo.

Genji lifted his chin to Hanzo, daring him to say something else. Hanzo doesn’t take the bait.

The doctor works quickly. Genji hovers, biting his nails and tapping his foot.

The seizure had been mild, a product of the trauma Jesse took, the intensity of his fighting, and stress of the situation according to the doctor. Suggesting he stay sedated and level with the neck brace affixed letting his body heal without extra stimuli.  Nodding in agreement, Genji goes to tell Hanzo.

“Enlighten me, brother, how do you propose we transport an unconscious man in a fashion that doesn’t aggravate his cranial injuries?” Genji’s face turns to the doctor. Limited as they were with the doctor’s inventory they found a solution. One that made Genji groan, running a hand over his face. He can see it now, Jesse punching the top of the box open shouting at him. _Ya put me inna goddamn coffin Genji!_ Well at least its padded. Technically it wasn’t a coffin either. Just a metal box. Made for this purpose. Smuggling human cargo. Because that’s what his family did. Smuggled…goods. Genji’s lip curled up in disgust. Loaded in a van they headed to the airfield. Once Jesse was safely on board the plane, Genji flopped into a seat, leather cushions creaking. He was out before the wheels were off the ground.

Hours later, Genji wakes up. Hanzo has dark shadows under his eyes. He’s on his phone typing a message. Genji didn’t expect his brother to come with him. Fine, whatever. Genji just needed to get Jesse back to his home.

There just wasn’t the time for Genji to sort out his story before Gabe lifted him off his feet. The first thing out of his mouth should have been that Jesse was okay. Should have, but didn't.

No amount of reassurances shakes Gabe from his stupor. Genji, bodily drags Gabe over to the stretch, pops the seal and reveals Jesse. Who looks like death, but isn’t dead. His breathing steady, body warm, and eyelids fluttering from the movement behind them. Gabe’s shuddering sob makes Genji feel like he’s been run through with a sword. Apologies tumble from Genji. He tries to explain. Tries to justify.

“I’m sorry Gabe, this wasn’t supposed to happen. He was doing well, shit, Gabe I’m sorry. I’m sorry Som.”

Gabe will have none of it.

“Get him out of that.” Chills run down Genji’s spine at the sound of Gabe’s voice. Death, he sounded like the angel of death. With his eyes set on Genji. Genji nods and barks at the attendants. A van had pulled up to the plane. Planned to arrive to help move Jesse. Jesse carefully is adjusted and lifted out of the box onto a real stretcher, blanket draped over his body.

Before Genji can breathe a sigh of relief, Jesse finally in his home above the gym, Gabe drags him by the scruff of his neck and tosses him into a chair at Jesse’s dining table. He tries to not squirm under Gabe’s piercing gaze.

“Explain.” Defiance sparks in Genji. Tired of being treated like a child. Rolling a shoulder, Genji starts talking.

“Firstly, this was just as much as Jesse’s idea as it was mine. To help you out. Because he loves his family.” Thankfully the guilt trip placates Gabe just enough for him to lean back into the chair, out of Genji’s face.

“It wasn’t—this wasn’t supposed to happen. I swear it.” Genji’s own guilt takes ahold. “I made sure the fights wouldn’t be… we had a plan.”

Jesse and Genji were pretty proud of themselves. The plan solid, a good cover for Jesse, back ups in place just in case things went pear shaped. A thing of beauty. Go to Japan where Genji has pull to setup the kind of fights that were safe, enough. Jesse gets into the ring does his thing which is winning. With the spoils in hand, head back home, help the family. Wham. Bam. Thank you, ma’am.

“But the last fight… got changed,” Genji looks over to Hanzo, who sits next to him, “to a deathmatch. Jesse…won.” Hanzo returns the stare, with no apology, no shame, no guilt marring his face. 

“I never would have put Jesse—”

“Then who did?”

“I did. A mess—” Genji will never forget what happens for a long as he lives. Jesse would have been astonished. Genji wishes there was a recording.

Out of thin air Sombra flies suddenly over the table and slams Hanzo in the face. The pair fall to the ground, Sombra on top of Hanzo raising her hands to claw his face off with her bright pink painted nails. Genji gets her off just in time. She flails, spitting curses in Spanish, kicking in hopes to land one on Hanzo.

Everything settled down from then. Genji intended to stay to make sure Jesse recovers. To help in anyway he could. Hanzo and Gabe both disagree for different reasons. Genji refuses to budge on the matter. He is staying. End of story.

“Then go back to Hanamura! I don’t need you here, Hanzo.”

“Because the last time I left you galivanting off in America went so well for us!” Buzzing came from Hanzo’s jacket interrupting the argument. He curses while reading the message. Genji faces Gabe.

“Please. I did this. I need to make it right. Jesse is my friend.” Genji knows Gabe will see reason. With Jesse out, Gabe can’t manage the gym, his own recovery, Jesse’s and whatever else life throws at him. Gabe relents. Sombra object loudly.

“You can’t be serious! Gabe, he nearly got Jesse killed! And now you’re letting him, and his arrogant ass brother stay!?” She and Gabe battle it out in Spanish. It ends with her storming off, slamming the door.

“Let me be clear. I don’t like this. But I right now, I don’t have much of a choice.” Gabe makes his way to the door Sombra left through. “Because as good it’ll make me feel calling the cops and having your asses thrown in jail, Jesse will get dragged down with you.” 

“I’ll be right back. Watch him.” Gabe points to Jesse’s room before closing the door behind him. Genji drops into a chair and rakes his hands through his hair. What a fucking mess.

“I need a smoke. Keep an eye on Jesse.”

“He is your responsibility. You watch him.”

Genji scrubs his face.

“Let me put it in terms you can wrap your fat head around Hanzo.” Genji digs into his pockets looking for his smokes. “He is _our_ responsibly. How will the clan look if they let their winning fighter die. He’s bound to the clan now. He won under our name. We are duty bound to ensure he lives. Now that he’s an asset.” The roof sounds like a good spot. Genji heads for the stairs at the back of the loft apartment. “We won 5 million with that fight. He gets half. Back in five.”

On the rooftop, in the garden Genji smokes. His jacket buzzes.  

_Incoming call from 1013_

“I can’t meet you right now…but I got the info. Things didn't go as planned. Jesse… Jesse got hurt—it’s everything you need.” Genji inhales deeply, taking a lungful of smoke. He pushes the smoke out of his nose, gathering resolve.

“I want to change the deal.”


	6. Round 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hanzo bids his time. Then makes his move.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all enjoy! Thanks a million for the comments. They warm my heart.

Hanzo watches Genji leave. In just as many days, Genji is right a second time. Jesse winning under the Shimada name bound him to the clan. At least, until the clan was done with him. Swiping an ice pack from the freezer Hanzo goes to think in the one place no one will yell at him. Jesse’s bedroom has simple decorations. A pleasing geometric pattern runs around the border of the room in yellow, walls a rustic red. There are photographs, small cacti in the window sill, no piles of clothes to Hanzo’s mild surprise. Everything else gives off warmth, in the tone of its colors or the texture of its surface. Being cozy, is a rare occurrence. He sits in the cushioned chair by the bed, places the ice pack on over his eye, thinks.

Plan. He needs to plan. Adjusting in the chair he begins to formulate one that is simple, but perfect. He has time whether or not it on his side has yet to be determined. Satisfied with what he comes up with, he leans back. He hadn’t slept on the flight over. His eyes were pinned to the screen of his cellphone. As fast as he could type, messages were sent out to the underbosses. It was to the point, if he is needed to hold their hands and peer over their shoulders, then they have failed. Any failures will be dealt with upon his return. Updates on current projects and on goings of daily and weekly activities are the only contact they are to send him. He sends a few more personalized messages to those he trusts more than the others. To keep a hard eye the untrusted while he is dealing with personal matters. Other arrangements were made, a driver, a hotel suite, reservations to his favorite restaurants.

Instead of sleeping, he looked to his brother baffled. _HE IS MY FRIEND!_  Echoed in his ears. Genji always moved in and out of circles too fast to keep any solid relations. The claim of friendship was a serious gesture on Genji’s part. To top it off, the genuine remorse etched into Genji’s features when he scrambled to calm the man named Gabe. Followed by obedience, when Gabe told Genji to explain. None of it made sense. Genji never listened to anyone other than their parents. He barely considered Hanzo’s requests or orders. Now he was set on taking care of his friend. A man he couldn’t have known longer than a few months. And doing what was asked of him by another. Taking responsibility. For his actions. For strangers. For people not of the clan. Hanzo’s simmering ire kept him awake the rest of the flight.

Now though, its deflated and he is left exhausted in the leather chair, in Jesse’s room. Sleep casts itself over him and he finally rests.

Over a week of recovery enables Jesse to be up and about consistently. Hanzo is finally able to put the first part of his plan in action. Every morning for the past week, he woke in the hotel, completed his morning routine then was driven to the Blackwatch Boxing Gym. Genji let him in the residents only entrance, begrudgingly.

“You can just stay here. Jesse has a spare room.” Hanzo tried to find the kindest way to say that he doesn’t stay with the help, they stay with him. “Then go back to Hanamura.”

“Not without you dear brother.” Hanzo states, repeatedly, exasperated.

Then Hanzo would read or meditate, watch Genji and Jesse putter around the apartment, or handle business matters. A rather boring existence but it was interesting to watch Jesse and Genji interact. They joked and laughed. Genji relaxed smiling more than Hanzo had seen in a long time. Hanzo left during the days for lunch then once more in the evening for dinner and to return to the hotel.

Visitors were constant. Quickly the counters in the kitchen and table in the dining room were filled with baked goods and other treats. Some brought over meals. A blonde woman had stopped by to check on Jesse every other day. She and Genji kept trying to sneak glances at each other. Hanzo caught Genji’s eye once, raising his eyebrow at him. Genji narrowed his eyes, sets his mouth in a frown in response.

Hanzo stunned everyone when he walked into the apartment with a garment bag once he comes back from lunch.

“We are going to dinner. Shave and do something with your hair.” Turning to Genji from Jesse, Hanzo continues. “You are not going. No discussion.”

“Now I must still have ringing in my ears. Because I swear I heard you just say we were goin’ to dinner and called me scruffy lookin’.” Hanzo settles at the table with a blank expression. Opens his book and reads. A finger lowers the book from his view before he can even get two sentences in.

“I ain’t goin’ anywhere with you.” Jesse drapes the garment bag across the back of a chair, his other hand raised to stop Genji from interfering.

“You seem to think you have a choice in the matter.” The book is closed and tucked into Hanzo’s lap.

“You’re a long way from home there pardner. I ain’t one of ya goons. So yeah. I do have a say.”

“You are in fact one of the goons.” Hanzo’s coolness, bites at Jesse. Redness spreads under the fading blues and purples of his face as his anger builds. “You killed a man under the Shimada name.”

There hadn’t been a conversation between Hanzo and Jesse once he was awake. Genji covered the essential details. Had the biggest shit eating grin when he got to the part about Sombra punching Hanzo in the face. But about the fight, no. No words had passed between them. What it meant that he killed for the Shimadas. How his fate was now entwined with decisions Hanzo made. Rightfully, Jesse is angry. Hanzo understands, but doesn’t care. He did what he had to do. Of course, it went unacknowledged and unappreciated.

“You set that up!” Jesse moves into Hanzo’s space. Crowding him with his larger, taller frame.

“And I would again. I would do it a thousand times over.” Hanzo didn’t yell, he shook with fury, but he refused to raise his voice. He wants the words, not his volume to snap Jesse out of his stupidity. “So would you if it meant protecting your family. Just how you’re going to go make yourself presentable, put on the damn suit, and be ready by eight.” Hanzo left to the roof. He found something inconsequential and threw it against the brick ledge of the building with all the force his body was capable of.

He doesn’t go back down until it’s nearly time to go.

“Where are you taking him?” Gabe and Sombra are in the kitchen waiting. Hanzo checks his watch. Just enough time to have to put up with Jesse’s protective family. Perfect.

“To dinner.” Sombra makes to catapult herself over the table again but is stopped short when Gabe touches her arm.

“Try again, smartass. Because here you aren’t as high and as mighty as you think. Big yakuza boss, groomed from birth. Inheriting your title. Didn’t have to fight your way up the ranks, in the streets. The dirt. Paying your dues with blood. To earn respect.” Gabe gives Hanzo a sly smirk. Before Hanzo can launch into his own judgements, Jesse comes out of the bathroom in the suit. Charcoal grey trousers, deep blue vest over a stark white shirt. He’s shrugging on the deep red jacket, hair slicked back, beard trimmed. Hanzo shifts to Jesse, taking his rage out on him.

“We’re leaving.” He seethes through his clenched jaw.

“Hanzo, please. Where are you going? Who—” Genji’s half step infront of Hanzo blocks his exit.

“We are going to a dinner. An invitation I sent out, to all the leaders of the criminal enterprises in the area.”

Hanzo takes pleasure in seeing all the faces in the room pale as he walks through the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be longer to include the dinner but I'm pooped. Still, I wanted to get it out. Since the next update won't be till maybe this weekend... Holiday is over and its back to the grind.


	7. Round 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jesse and Hanzo go to have dinner with the other crime bosses in the area. It's sure to be interesting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags have been updated for the brief appearances of other OW characters.  
> Unbeta'd. See and error let me know.

“Spit it out before you give yourself an aneurysm. Or an ulcer.” Hanzo has been sitting in the car stiff as a board, jaw clenched, his anger given away by the twitch of his eye, pinched brows, fists opening and closing nonstop. All his ticks vanish once he realizes Jesse is watching him. But doesn’t say anything, instead looking out the car window.

Jesse sighs gently. Stubborn ass. He stretches his arm out, rolling his shoulder so his jacket doesn’t cinch at his elbow when he rests his chin on his knuckles. Genji let it slip how much his get up probably costs when he was helping Jesse out piece it together. Jesse fights, getting snazzy doesn’t happen often, if ever. Genji helped, more like manhandled him, in the suit. He tied the tie properly, made sure his collar wasn’t flipped, his boots sparkled, all with a nervousness that made Jesse queasy.

“Genji, stop. Stop. Genji.” Jesse holds Genji’s shoulders. Jesse thought he looked bad. Genji looked a right wreck. Hair was greasy and all over the place. Contrary to his usual carefully spiked or slicked back look. He has bag under his eyes, even a little paler, almost sickly.

“What’s wrong?”

“He’s planning something, and I can’t figure it out. I could never figure out what he plans.”

“It’s going to be—”

“No Jesse! It’s not okay!”  Genji drops on to the toilet, luckily the seat and cover were down. “His last plan nearly got you killed and you…you had to kill someone…Jesse you’re my friend… my only…I…” Genji trails off loss for words, digging his hands into his scalp. He pulled himself out of it, deciding clasping his hands and pressing them to his mouth would offer some solace. His eyes darted between things Jesse couldn’t see.

“I was going to say. Before you so rudely interrupted me,” Jesse kneeled infront of Genji, “that it’s going to be a fucking shit show. And we gotta figure out what the hell we can do.”

The smile that breaks across Genji’s face, calms Jesse just a smidge.

“So what do we do?”

“How the hell am I supposed to know? He’s your brother.” Genji scoffs.

“We’re nearly strangers.”

“He loves you though. Forced a deathmatch to protect you.”

“No, it was to protect the clan name. Not me. Protecting me is just an extension of securing the clan.” Genji says bitterly.

Jesse was in the middle of drilling Fareeha when Genji had walked into the gym months ago. A cocky grin stayed plastered to his face as he…perused the gym. Sombra was the first to approach him. It was for the best. She was good at scaring people who carried themselves like he did. With entitlement. However, he didn’t mind the shake down from Sombra. They ended up laughing and he pulled out his phone swiping through pictures, Jesse assumed. This caused Jesse to tell Fareeha to take ten. Turns out Genji was like a bird that flew into the grocery store, decided it was a cool place, made a nest and stayed. His carefree and gregarious demeanor fit well with the rest of the bunch. Turns out he was interested in boxing. He joined a class he clearly was too advanced for, did drills that didn’t even break a sweat. He was friendly with everyone. Not at all what everyone expected. Him and Sombra played small pranks on people. They were both stupid sneaky. Jesse started to hang out with him when Sombra brought him over for dinner. They played video games, watched B movies that were so bad they were glorious. Genji even got him to go to the arcade a few times. Bouncing between all the regulars at the gym, Genji became well liked and known. He would even offer to help out with classes after a while. Even Gabe would be in on the pranks. Howling with laughter.

Until he got sick.

Genji nervously revealed his criminal heritage, to Jesse then, he wanted to help, knew they wouldn’t just take his money, knew he was fighting against three proud souls. He said he could get Jesse fights in Japan, make bank, then get out of Dodge before it went too far. Desperation hooked Jesse. The bonus of getting back in the ring, made his insides jolt. He had an itch that needed to be scratched.

Everything was going beautifully. Jesse felt bad about lying, but after the first fight, the blood pumping through his veins soaked with adrenaline, the world slowly getting its color back. He’s addiction reared its head. High as the sun in the noon sky. Genji sweetened the deal by taking him around Japan. Jesse was often pulled aside to have his picture taken, his cowboy hat tilted back to not over shadow his face or on one of the sweet little things requesting a photo. One of the best times he’s had.

Of course, the other boot would drop.

“I get it.” Jesse says to the car window. “Protecting family is everything. It’s what you were doing when you changed the match. Dunno what sort of trouble it caused you, fully. Don’t mind, not knowing. I also ain’t saying I’ve gotten over it. But I get it. You do what you have to, for family.” Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees Hanzo tilt his head towards him. His loose silky black hair, slipping over his shoulder, resting against his chest. “Since my family is now closer than I would like to yours. Be straight with me, no snark, no bullshit. Tell me plain what I need to do to keep them safe.”

Hanzo works his jaw side to side for a few seconds, chewing on the words he plans to say. Jesse waits. Eyes set with determination.

“Try to not speak if you don’t have to.” Hanzo’s tone remains quiet, almost a hushed whisper. “Do not get angry.” Hanzo swallows. “Follow my lead. We aren’t there to fight.”

Madam Lacroix runs the highest of high end escort services on the West Coast. Jesse understands his attire when he steps out of the care to the hotel that is the front of the business. He knows about the Madam because she was coming up during his days in Deadlock, and only just whispers of information. Rumor has it she killed her husband to take over the business, rumors closer to the truth reveal a convoluted plot of rivals and deception. Some say, mostly her working girls, that she didn’t even know it was her husband she killed. A few go as far to say that she still thinks he is alive.

Bellhops open the doors allowing the pair to walk in. Madam Lacroix greets them personally. She gives them both a once over, slowly, from head to toe. A small smile forms on her royal purple colored lips. She beckons them with a curling of a finger. They follow.

The dining room is lavish and already occupied. Jesse hardens his features. He can play big tough guy, bodyguard. This is old hat. He can do this. There are two empty seats at the table. The war had taken its toll even in the criminal underworld. Many large prominent gangs from the heyday were gone from LA. Absorbed under the few that knew how to turn the chaos to their advantage. Leaders or representative from various gangs and syndicates were present. Jesse only recognized Los Muertos and group calling itself Talon.

Hanzo starts speaking as soon as his coat is taken from him.

“Gentlemen, ladies, distinguished guests, I know you’re curious as to my calling of a meeting under the neutral eye of Madam Lacroix.” Jesse follows him to the empty seats. Hanzo pulls out the chair for him. Jesse slides into it smoothly with a flourish of his jacket. “So let me be clear, I am not here to disrupt your operations. No recruiting. Scouting. Poaching. Investing.” Jesse unfolds a napkin, snapping it in the air before laying it across one of his thighs. Hanzo is still behind him, standing, hands resting on the back of the chair. Jesse ignores all the glances his way, pouring himself a drink.

“I am here,” Jesse is bringing the filled glass to his lips when Hanzo’s hands glides from the back of the chair to his shoulders, “for my own,” one hand trails up his neck, the other down to his chest, “personal, interests.”

Loosely, the hand at his neck, warm and soft, moves up. The touches are light and almost not there at all. Across his jaw, his cheek, his bottom lip. Goosebumps swept over his skin. The other deftly undoes the top buttons of his collared shirt, the dips beneath the cloth to the hollow of his throat causing Jesse to shift, lifting his chin up, pressing into the other hand on his face.

“I advise the same curtesy I show you.” Jesse can tell Hanzo is making eye contact with everyone at the table. “Do not tamper with my interests.”

All the touches vanish. Jesse resumes the movement of his arm still holding the glass. He doesn’t hear the groveling from a few of the leaders. How honored they are to attend a dinner hosted by the head of the Shimada-gumi. They try to bait Hanzo into endeavors. Hanzo eats his meal with a blank neutral face. The ghosts of Hanzo’s hands are haunting Jesse's mind. He’s proud of his lack of reaction. As to not give anything away. But damn if his mind and body aren’t warring with each other right now. The universe throws him a bone with a loud disruption.

“Fuck this!” A lieutenant from a gang Jesse doesn’t recognize kicks back his chair. “This pompous ass comes waltzing in and you all fall to your knees ready to suck his dick. Like what he says actually fucking matters.”

The table goes still and silent.

The man leans over the table pointing an accusatory finger at Hanzo. He continues to call the others in the room cowards. Piles of shit. Just wait till he tells everyone how weak they all are. He doesn’t notice Jesse hold his hand out to Hanzo, what Hanzo places in it. Or when Jesse stands. Unexpectedly quiet and light on his feet. The fool lieutenant finally notices something is off. But it’s too late. Jesse slams the man’s head into the table, grabs one of the scrambling hands trying to gain purchase on the table, and drives the steak knife Hanzo gave him through the palm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This scene was actually for another fic I have mulling around. I might still use it. If I ever get around to writing it....
> 
> Thank you everyone for leaving the most lovely comments on every chapter. *looks at friendlynonmurderingsort, tevokkia, dreamwalker, and the anon that goes by Romoulous*


	8. Round 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabe's hands are tied when Detective Morrison comes asking questions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Un'beta'd. 
> 
> Enjoy

Round 8

The gym is lively. The usual weekday buzz. Just another day. Sombra takes down information from a new member, Satya. Fareeha and Angela talk over by the juice bar. Mei waits patiently while Zarya pretends to look over the menu. Wilhelm stands behind her toweling off, laughing at his own joke. Vick’s on the treadmill. Emily and Lena are stretching against the wall. Foss loads weights on the squat bar. Wishard under the bar gets ready to start a set. Jamieson running his mouth a mile a minute to Mako. Tommy and Erin toss a medicine ball back and forth on the open mats. Just another day.  The rhythmic drum of feet on a treadmill, the clink of plates on weight machines, grunts of exertion. The voices. Laughter, idle chatter, encouragement. For them, it’s just another day at the gym. Another day where Gabe dresses in his dark grey hoodie. Where something pissed him off hence the dark cloud over his head, tendrils reaching out making Sombra anxious, a little snappish.

It’s just another day, so they don’t go silent. Or hushed. Or still. Or anything against their usual behavior when Detective Morrison walks in.

They give waves and smiles, because it’s just another day when Detective Morrison stops by to chat with his war buddy Reyes. He waves and smiles back. Only a few think it’s odd that Sombra goes tense. Set on edge instantly by the boot heels digging into the gym cement floor, announcing his movements. How her eyes bore into the side of his face, then his blue duster covered back.  But they know her history for the most part with the law. The mountains of stress that comes with taking care of someone who is sick. They continue with their business.

Just another day.

Over and over, Gabe reads and rereads the same paragraph. An email, an invitation for a Blackwatch fighter to participate in an upcoming event. Charity event. Exhibition match. None of the words after the initial paragraph absorbed into his mind. He decides to watch the gym floor, hoping it might distract him. It doesn’t. Because there are a million thoughts jamming themselves against the inside of skull. Thoughts of what ifs, what could haves, what should haves. Plans and backup plans. Fears and worst fears. They all vie for his attention. They run unchecked. Inundating all other thought processes. All attempts to rein them in, tossed to the side. Gabe lets them. Finding peace in the storm. But unlike everyone in the gym, it wasn’t just another day for Gabe when Morrison walks in. He tracks him moving from the door. Past the free weights, the machines, the mats. He knows by the set in Morrison’s shoulders, the drumming of his fingers against his thigh, the glances to Gabe’s office while someone diverts his attention. Gabe knows it isn’t just another day.

“Here or somewhere else?” Gabe’s hands are steepled, the tip of his index fingers pressed against his lips when Morrison finally makes it to his office. Dread sloshes in his gut when he stands. He doesn’t have it in him to show thanks for the kindness shown to him.

“Roof.” Morrison nods. Silence rules over their short trip. Four flights of stairs, six doors. Steps echoing against the walls. Not a word is spoken. In the open air, traffic below fills the void. Gabe grips the railing on the roof and waits, knuckles white. Up here on the roof, they had had many talks. It was their choice place for heart to hearts and shouting matches. The garden served as a distraction sometimes. To give their hands something to fiddle with or throw. They had breezed through it without a second glance.

Morrison rummages in his jacket for something.  A hand nudges Gabe’s bicep, a pack of cigarettes, one half out of the container, an offer. Gabe takes it. Old habits emerge in dire times. Morrison takes one for himself, then strikes a light. For a solid eight minutes they smoke, side by side in silence. Staring out into the city.

Gabe’s home.

Morrison’s jurisdiction.

“A year’s worth of planning just went to shit.” Gabe rolls the cigarette between his fingers, gaze trapped in the soft glow of the embers. The words spoken are louder than the car horn blaring a block away. Setting a heavy weight on his shoulders that makes him adjust to lean his forearms on the railing.

“Three sting operations. Three deals. All trafficking. Drugs. Weapons. Human.” Morrison continues looking ahead. “All stopped dead in their tracks. All the intel we got is null and void. My CIs—the ones that will talk—all say the same thing. It isn’t safe out.”

“Remember those old westerns? Where, when a gunslinger, wanted by the law, bad news through and through, walks into a town and the town boards itself shut instantly? Remember that? Only thing moving is a tumbleweed.” Morrison finally turns his body to face Gabe.  “Well apparently L.A. has been boarded up for almost a month. We only just found out. But you know, I already know you knew that. What I don’t know is, what came to town. What I don’t know,” Morrison snuffs out the cigarette with his fingers, “is why every gang in L.A. is being told to not go within twenty miles of Blackwatch if they can help it. Why everyone is on their best behavior or hiding under a rock.”

“Our first clue should have been when a known second in command of a local gang showed up dead. Almost a week back. Beaten to barely look like a person anymore then shot in the head.” Gabe meets Morrison’s eye for the first time. A cold stare with tightly drawn lips. One that makes Morrison narrow his eyes.

If only he could see what Gabe saw.

Of Jesse coming home from his and Hanzo’s dinner with all the criminal leaders in the state, hanging off Hanzo, head lulling, barely able to walk, in the early light of the morning. Hanzo steadying Jesse by having an arm wrapped around his waist, pressed up against his side. Over Hanzo’s shoulders, Jesse’s right arm is used as leverage, locked into place by Hanzo gripping his wrist. The suit jacket Jesse had left with is gone.  As is the vest. The tie. The white shirt remains. Sleeves cuffed at his elbows.

Speckled with blood.

Gabe stopped short of ripping Jesse from Hanzo when he crashes into the smell. Whiskey. Harsh fumes rolling off Jesse with each breath.  Hanzo doesn’t stutter in his stride.

“I have him.”

The words drop onto Gabe like a stack of weights. Pinning him to where he stands. _I have him._ Feels a lot like _he is mine_. A realization causing Gabe’s insides to surge with panic. He wanted to run. He could do it. Sell the gym and house within the week. Get Sombra to book flights for the three of them. Pack two bags. He knows a place in Mexico. In Brazil. In India. In Spain. Never look back.

Hanzo returned to the dining room. His jacket is also missing. He still had on the vest and white shirt, opened just enough to show the edge of his tattoo on his pec. His folds his sleeves up before looking into the cupboards for something. Gabe has had enough.

“You do not have him. He is not yours.” He grabbed Hanzo by the shoulder whipping him around. He slams the heels of his palms into Hanzo’s chest. Hanzo grimaces in discomfort when he is knocked into the sink counter. A plate slides from the dish rack, dropping to the floor. Shattering into pieces. Jesse murmurs from his bedroom.

"That is not your decision." Hanzo knocked Gabe’s arm wide, then pushes back. Hard. And goddamnit if Gabe’s chest doesn’t hurt. Still weak from bedrest and added stress. “He made it when he got into the ring. Unknowingly. Foolishly. I am merely trying to control the chaos him and my brother have thrown our worlds into. That means he is mine. Until this mess is cleaned.”  Gabe held a hand to his chest as Hanzo spoke. Wincing to the smallest degree.

“What happened?” Free from Gabe being in his space, Hanzo continued to look in the cupboards. He removed a glass and a large bowl, filled both with water.

“An example had to be made. Jesse handled it on my behalf. To ensure his family—you, the girl, the gym, it’s patrons,” Hanzo pushed the bowl to Gabe, “my brother, all remained safe.”

“You should be appreciative. To have a dutiful son. Who will do what he must. He was perfect.” He left to Jesse’s room. Gabe followed. “I assume you can check his hands for injuries. If not, you should have someone look at them."

Jesse has been all levels of drunk with Gabe. Happy drunk. Sloppy drunk. Sad drunk. But this level of intoxication has one of two goals, to forget or to die. By the state of the Jesse's hands. The bleeding knuckles, the stained red patches of skin, the way the trembled still after having drank what had to have been an entire bottle. Gabe doesn't know which he wished for when he began to drink. Gabe set the bowl down on the night stand. Hanzo handed him a cloth. Gabe worked with Hanzo over his shoulder. Cleaning Jesse's hands. Getting him out of the bloodied shirt. Pulled him up just long enough to get some water into his system. The two sat in the room, watching over Jesse. One with worry etched into his face, the other with satisfaction.

Gabe straightens from the railing. He flicks the butt of the cigarette into the air, lost forever to the city. Morrison still waits for him to reply. 

_What I don’t know, is what came to town._

Gabe gives him the only answer he can. 

“A dragon.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Early again. Because I love this AU that she came up with. If anyone else writes their own version please share it!
> 
> Thank you, thank you, thank you for your comments. <3


	9. Round 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Genji has this feeling that he thinks might be a warning for demise. The last time he felt it was after his father’s funeral. It’s come back when he catches how Hanzo eyeing Jesse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had a busy weekend but needed to start the week off with an angry protective Genji. 
> 
> Unbeta’d. Let me know if you find a typo.
> 
> Enjoy!

Round 9

For a moment, for a long hard moment, Genji thinks everything has completely fallen apart. He doesn’t look like a man who’s world is crumbling around him. Sitting outside at a café. Cooly ordering a pastry with a coffee, cream and sugar. A wink and brilliant smile to the waitress. She boldly winks back. He fiddles with his phone. Flipping it over and over in his hand. End over end. Checking the time again and again. He spends more time trying to place the feeling he has rooted in his core then the cause of it. The nagging at the back of his mind telling him it’s familiar. This feeling of helplessness, fury, and dread. He holds it up against his memories, comparing, looking for a match. The time he nearly overdosed at a club. First time he woke up in a stranger’s bed. Being shot at. Getting into a fist fight. Knife fight. Nothing fits the sharp edges pressing into his side this feeling gives him. Or the shiver down his spine. He thinks of this for a long time because it has to be important. Possibly some guidance to his current situation. A warning. He’s eating his pastry when the memory resurfaces.

Winter in Hanamura is just as beautiful as it is in the spring. The procession to the temple stretched back for at least a mile. He walked with his head up but eyes lowered at Hanzo’s side in matching formal kimonos of black and grey, at the front, just behind the coffin carrying his father’s body. That’s where the feeling started, small but ever present. It grew during the wake with each gift to the now orphaned brothers, when he and Hanzo transferred the bones of their father into the urn, when they sat shoulder to shoulder in front of the alter the urn was placed on.

“Hanzo…” Genji reached a hand out, Hanzo grasped it quickly, hard, almost painfully so, in his own hand. Genji returned the death grip, finally able to show the terror blooming inside of him.

“I’m not ready.” Hanzo’s voice was shrouded in fear. “I…he didn’t teach me everything…I don’t know how…How am I supposed…Genji he was supposed to guide me.” Genji hadn’t seen or heard his older brother this scared since they were young boys. Usually when they got caught sneaking out past curfew.

“I’m here. You’re not alone. We can do this. You’re smart. I can talk anyone into anything. That’s gotta be something. Maybe we can start going legit?” Hanzo gave a weak snort before bowing forward, forehead nearly touching the bamboo matted floor, body shaking with sobs escaping him. The feeling digging in Genji made him throw his arm around his brother, pulling himself close as they wept for their father, their mother, their lost childhoods and uncertain future.

Hanzo never opened himself up again. Instead he buried himself, Genji couldn’t dig him out fast enough. This is where the feeling had reached fully maturity. It’s distinct edges honed completely. Ate at him while he watched his world fall apart, scrambled to put the pieces back together. Eventually he gave up. He fought so hard though. He backed up Hanzo when the Elders pressured him. He thought he could support Hanzo and the burden placed upon him. Slowly though, Genji lost ground. The Elders were well practiced. Hanzo slipped through his fingers. His brother that laughed at his jokes and stunts. Who had ramen eating contests with him and somehow always won. His best friend. Replaced over the years little by little. Till a stranger walked around with Hanzo’s features.

Genji sought solace in the beds of anyone who would take him. In chemically induced highs. In rebelling against the men and women who turned his brother into a cold calculating arrogant asshole. He lived off their disgusted looks, their castigatory comments in front of others, their anger.

Then Hanzo turned on him. Condemning him in a similar fashion. The rift the Elders created became a chasm.

After a particularly heated fight, Genji left. He spent just over half a year in America. At Blackwatch. Because he heard things about the place. How open they were to people. No matter their history. He heard about them while attending some underground fights. The man known as “Reaper” was still famous though long retired. It took some doing but he located the boxing gym in L.A. Making new friends came easy as he spent more time there. Unexpectedly being welcomed into a family. A home. He was about to empty his accounts and settle permanently when Gabe’s condition sideswiped everyone.

He just wanted to help and now…now Jesse walks around with a dark shadow over him. A weight Genji dropped on him unknowingly. _Consequences_. His father’s voice murmurs in his ear. Now Hanzo has his nails hooked into the escape he had found away from everything back in Hanamura. To keep him safe. Genji‘s blood boiled. Bullshit. All of it. Then to make matters worse. To add a fucking cherry on top of this trash fire, making Genji even more infuriated. Genji catches how Hanzo’s eyes linger on Jesse just a little too long. How he stands just a hint too close to him. Interacts with him, quietly, softly with a hint of smile on his lips.

Genji asked as discretely as possible about Jesse’s preferences.

“Genji you’re not his type. Trust me. You aren’t bad enough to his well being for him to be—Plus I thought you were trying to get wi—“ Sombra turned to find Genji already gone. He was stalking toward Hanzo who was watching Jesse lead a class on his way from talking to Gabe. Jesse demonstrates an exercise to the students. A variation of incline sit-ups, ankles crossed, thighs wrapped around the middle of a punching bag, torso stretching back in an arch head toward the floor mats. Jesse’s shirt drifting up higher each time exposing his abs and the trail of hair leading the eye to the waistband of his shorts, arms flexed to cradle his head releasing to punch the bag a few times at the top of the repetition. Genji hauled Hanzo to the roof, his attempt to get one last look setting Genji off.

“Stay the fuck away from him!” Jesse told him what happened at the dinner. Of Hanzo getting handsy and Jesse beating a men nearly to death. His shock that no one else had moved against him. His guilt when Madam Lacroix pulled a silenced pistol out and shot the man in the head.

“Excuse me?” Hanzo tugged his arm away from Genji, smoothing out the creases from Genji’s hold on him.

“Don’t play dumb Hanzo. Your passive aura of arrogance gives you away.” Genji paced. “You know what I mean. He is my friend. Do not fuck with him. It’s bad enough—

“I wasn’t aware Jesse’s honor had to be protected for him. Do you think him so incapable?”

Genji lost it. He shouted and shoved Hanzo back. Hanzo pushed and shouted back.

“I didn’t make him do anything! He just knows the stakes. Knows what he has to do to keep his family safe. Just like I do for you!”

“Bullshit! You don’t give a fuck about what happens to me!”

They would have come to blows if Genji didn’t receive a phone call.

_Incoming call 1013._

“We aren’t done.” Genji rushed back inside. He avoids slamming into Jesse on the way down the stairs.

“Woah, where you going?”

“Got to run an errand. Stay away from Hanzo.”

“What…? Genji, what’s going— Genji!” Jesse peers over the stair railings as Genji takes three steps at a time and the residents door.

His coffee is cold and the pastry lays forgotten, half eaten. He’s been waiting. Too much time has gone by. Something is wrong. In his hands his phone lights up again.

_Incoming call 1013._

“I’m at the café where are—no that wasn’t the deal.”Genji hisses into the phone. “Fine. When can I give you… what charity event? Alright, alright. No, I don’t know if Jesse will be fighting. I didn’t even know about the damn thing. Okay.” Genji lowers the phone. He tries to ignore the feeling stabbing at him. He has a plan. He just has to hold out a little longer. It’ll all be—“

“Genji Shimada, I heard a rumor you were running around L.A.” Genji looks around for the speaker, hoping his stressed mind tricked him. Hoping it isn’t who he knows the voice belongs to. More pieces of his world shatter.

Akande Ogundimu greets him with a smile.


	10. Round 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jesse continues to battle his inner demons. And has old and new habits working against him. Hanzo's form of help isn't helpful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Battled a migraine last weekend. Now that I can look at a screen properly without my brain going into a meltdown, I decided this needed to be heavily rewritten.
> 
> Thanks for being patient! Also did you know the longest boxing match on record is like 110 rounds? 
> 
> No beta, you know the drill.

“Hey! What the hell do you think you’re doing!?” Hanzo freezes, Jesse runs across the rooftop toward him. Jesse, still dressed from his workout, black shirt soaked through with sweat, matching gym shorts, snatches Hanzo’s hands into his own. Jesse doesn’t spare a glance at Hanzo’s surprised face.

“You lose your goddamn mind? Goin’ at the heavy bag like it spit in your face.” Jesse turns Hanzo’s hands over inspecting them. He follows the bone structure feeling for anything out of place. Kneading the tendons and rolling over the joints. Hanzo doesn’t pull away. Not that it would stop Jesse. All day he deals with students nearly breaking their hands on heavy bags, thinking they are hot shit. This bag in particular has broken more hands than the rest downstairs. It’s an old bag. From Gabe’s prime fighting days as Reaper. Five hundred pounds stuffed into a leather skin. Long ago there may have been an inch or two of foam padding. Jesse knows for a fact its ground into the sand filling the bag, covering the weights at the center. Not many people use it, mainly because there is limited access to it. Mostly because if someone goes at the bag wrong it will do damage to the fighter. Jesse felt himself channeling Gabe, scolding Hanzo.

“Bare knuckled. Fist closed. What’s the matter with you?” Jesse misses the smirk held on Hanzo’s lips. “You ever wanna write or type, hold chopsticks?!” Jesse continues to lecture, still missing how the smirk widens. He has his hand clasped around Hanzo’s wrist, stopping instantly when he sees the exposed tattooed arm. Jesse’s eyes trace up the arm adorned with muscle then over to a chest coated in a sheen of sweat highlighting all the subtle curves of his torso.

Shit.

He quickly locks his eyes to Hanzo’s face, flicking to the side as they catch the glint of a gold ribbon pulling his hair up into a bun, stray strands not even looking messy. A pair of honey whiskey eyes gleam back at him. 

Shit.

 _Stay away from Hanzo_. The ghosts of Hanzo’s hands on his chest scoff at Genji’s warning. Like Jesse needs to be told. Hanzo embodied the type of danger Jesse flirted with habitually. Alluring in all the right ways. A small piece of him begged to touch the flame.

To tempt danger.

Reality snaps back into place.

“Least you didn’t break anything.” He drops the hands with a huff, walking past Hanzo. In a plastic crate he digs out two rolls of fabric. “Wrap your damn hands.” He shoves it at Hanzo, heading back to the door leading into the building.

Jesse makes his way back to his apartment. Flops onto the sofa. He needs a minute. Maybe ten, to get the unexpected sight of a well sculpted half tattooed chest and of how rough Hanzo’s hands felt, out of his mind. Had they been that rough at the dinner? Memories of the dinner grinds him back into reality, into the shitstorm he got himself into. He looks over to a box on a small table in the corner. Leaning over he opens the humidor, pucks a cigar out. It’s the one Madam Lacroix gave him, slipped into the breast pocket of his shirt. His hands too bloody and sore to take it from her. Motor function reduced to only grabbing a glass of whiskey, praying it burns the night from his memory. It didn’t work, he found hand rolled cigar the day after the dinner while he nursed a headache and guilt-ridden soul.

The rules of outlaws never changed, no matter how fancy they dressed. He knew he had to do something at the dinner.  Disrespect could not be tolerated. Jesse hates how easily he slipped back into the role he played so long ago. Even after all the time away from it. Of how his life had changed leaps and bounds for the better. A second nature. A state of being hidden away for years. One single instance of similarity slammed him back to the days he was an enforcer for Deadlock. The same exhilaration filled him. From the risk. The danger of the whole room turning on him and having to fight his way out. A potential reality he teased with his actions. A rush he knew better than to enjoy. A cruelty housed deep in him awoke, wrangled free of the restraints he placed on it. Having tamed it enough to unleash it in the ring, where boundaries still kept it, him, in check.

He should be better than this. But what choice did he have? Could he have just sat there? Hanzo made his move to make sure they weren’t harassed or threated and—fuck! He’s still just a pair of fists. Point him in a direction and he’ll pummel until someone says stop. 

Gabe keeps giving Jesse a _look_. The disappointment barely masked by the unadulterated concern in his deep brown eyes. Jesse snaps the cigar between his fingers without realizing.

Ingrate.

Sombra owes Gabe 50 bucks.

Hanzo slips into the apartment during Jesse’s brooding session. He stops short when he notices Jesse in the living room, a wrapped hand pulling at the ribbon holding his hair back.

“There’s ice packs in the freezer.” Voice disheartened as he looks up from the spread of photos on the coffee table. Reminders to himself. To keep his priorities straight. Jesse doesn’t bat an eye when he hears Hanzo’s deep breaths, sees his chest raising and falling quickly beneath the untucked half buttoned shirt.

Hanzo notices the sudden change. The hint of a smile falling into a firm scowl. Jesse clenches his jaw, Hanzo steps toward him, unwrapping his hands. Jesse doesn’t look away from the broken cigar on the table.

“You shouldn’t feel remorse over the unfortunate events of the dinner.” Hanzo sets a bundle of the rolled cloth next to the cigar pieces on the table. “You did nothing wro—”

“Shut up.” Jesse growls back.

A rustle and a snap of cloth is all the warning Jesse gets. Hanzo pulls him up to standing, a set of the hand wraps looped around Jesse’s neck, yanked tight. Cutting off the flow of blood to his brain. Air to his lungs.

“I will not.” Hanzo hisses into Jesse’s face, before swinging Jesse into the middle of the living room. Jesse coughs ripping the wrap off his throat. He isn’t allowed time to react before Hanzo pins his chest to the floor, straddling him from behind, an arm slithers under his chin to choke and hold him in place.

“Quit acting like a beaten dog!” Hanzo continues, voice rough with anger. “It’s pathetic. You did what you had to! You protected your family. Mine. Simply and effectively.”

The words ring true to a part of him. A part that wants to hold his head up high. To look at Gabe straight in the eye, proudly. Hanzo dips his head, pressing his temple against Jesse’s. Hanzo’s hair falls over his face. Hanzo’s body wraps around him like a snake. Poised to break him with the tightening of muscles, the turn of a powerful shoulder.  

“To think I thought I found someone who understood. Unashamed. Fighting for and protecting what they believed in.” Jesse kicks a leg between Hanzo’s well placed ankle hooks, twists his hips and snaps his core curling into himself on his side. He traps the wrist on the arm choking him, turning onto his back he bucks, hard, using his free hand to grip Hanzo’s shirt throwing him forward. Next Jesse swings his legs up over Hanzo’s back and ankles into his sides, just below Hanzo's armpits for leverage. A push and roll has his head pop up from under Hanzo. One final spin sets him over Hanzo, who only has time to rolls onto his back.

Hanzo grins up at Jesse, not even caring about the fist readied to hit him square in the face. He hums with a smugness Jesse can feel. "Maybe I was right after all." Long black hair with streaks of grey splayed out on the living room floor. Face flush. His bottom lip pouting just the right amount. The room feels hotter than it should be, making Jesse dizzy.

Jesse cracks Hanzo across the jaw. Roughly bringing Hanzo's face back to center, jaw held in place by a hand, fingers pressing into the side of his neck. Jesse bends forward colliding their mouths.

He feels the grin still on Hanzo's lips.

Goddamnit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because we are all flawed people who give into things we shouldn't at times.
> 
>  
> 
> [ Tenebrosa's fic, thank you for joining me in this AU! It's def nsfw goodness. ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12947682/chapters/29593911)


	11. Round 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's fight night and Hanzo isn't going to miss it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas everyone! I've been trying to get this chapter out for so long but the holidays and work have been against me. 
> 
> But here it is.
> 
> Enjoy the story.

“I hear your…” Madam Lacroix pauses, unnecessarily, while she brings up her wine, lips in a smirk, an eyebrow gracefully arched, “personal interest, will be fighting tonight.” She takes a long sip from the glass. Gazing over the top of her deep red wine, never leaving Hanzo’s face. Searching for a twitch of the brow, pursing of the lips, anything she can use against him. Apparently, she’d grown tired of openly judging their fellow patrons, turning her eye to him for entertainment.  A game Hanzo knows too well to give her anything.

Instead he continues to glance slowly, seemingly just as bored, about the room while they wait for the first fight to start, standing at a table in the lounge, drinks in their hands. Both too decadent for their surroundings even when around them men and women dressed in their finest mingle and drink. Hanzo wants to be anywhere but here to be truthful. Two reasons have him here and both serve to prove a point.

Hanzo Shimada does not hide.

Setup with a tablet in the living room, dealing with a recent fiasco involving a shipment of weapons going array, Hanzo tensed when a voice boomed from the kitchen.

“Come down to my office. We need to have a chat.” An intercom system, clever. Yet very unwise to think Hanzo would respond to a summons given in such a discourteous manner. Fools. Hanzo remained seated, finishing his message. He read another message and replied to that one as well. Prospective buyer from Africa. Checked the status of Jesse’s payment. Frowned deeply at the remaining duration of the washing required for the money. He would need to have a conversation with Genji about the accountant he used. Drank the rest of his tea, staring out the window taking in the silent city scape. Enjoying the quiet, thinking of how he can get Genji back in line once they returned to Hanamura. To doing his duty to the clan rather than to these…strangers. Genji’s loyalty to a group of people that weren’t blood, continued to stoke flames of fury in his chest. Hanzo took a deep breath letting the air level his temper.

The apartment was empty. Jesse and Genji both working. Genji _worked_ in the gym, Hanzo still in disbelief at the thought. Having to see it in person, Hanzo sat in the manager’s office and watched one morning. Everyone greeted Genji with smiles and good-natured ribbing. A few though showed concerned. Genji wasn’t himself, at least a self they didn’t know about. They only seemed to know one side of Genji, Hanzo observed. A side Genji no longer showed Hanzo…

Hanzo lifted his jacket off the back of the lush brown leather chair. Each movement steeled him. Put him in the _family business_ mindset. Sliding his arms through the silk lined sleeves, adjusting the lapels, silver cufflinks with the clan emblem fastened. He went down to the office. A solid hour having passed since he was beckoned. Reyes, Hanzo refused to call him Gabe, the familiarity improper given how much the man viewed Hanzo in an unfavorable light, didn’t bother looking up when he walked in.

“I need Jesse to fight at a charity event. Exhibition match.” Hanzo listened as Reyes explained. The invitation had Reyes in a pinch. Blackwatch needed to appear like it was business as usual while they waited for the Shimada brothers to leave, well least for Hanzo to leave. He was also short handed with available fighters. Injuries were abundant. Reyes wanted two fighters on the ticket, to help with promoting Blackwatch. Jesse while available, had strings attached to Hanzo, to a syndicate an ocean away.

“If you’re concerned about any illicit activities surrounding the bout due to who is fighting, you needn’t worry. It was made clear at the dinner. I am not here on business.” Hanzo said voice disinterested.

“Fine.” Reyes ground out, smooth voice going gravelly. “You can’t attend. A lot of people will be there to rub elbows. Including LAPD. They know something has everyone spooked.” Hanzo agreed. It would be best if he enjoyed his evening in his hotel suite. A fine meal, a massage. He rarely pampered himself. However, Hanzo didn’t like being told what to do, especially by a man who was under some false impression he held authority over him. That he would obey.

Hanzo laughed.

“Privy to the on goings of LAPD, are you?” Hanzo hadn’t missed the blonde in the blue duster jacket leaving the gym a few days ago from the apartment windows. Which surprisingly had a good view for at least three sides of the building.

“Enough to know you need to keep a low profile. They found your message.”

“They were supposed to.” Hanzo peers out the office window. Genji and the girl, Sombra, were talking. “No one will touch the fight.” These people truly did not know who they were dealing with, Hanzo mused getting to his feet. He would not hide. “I will see to it personally.”  Or be ordered around.

Hanzo left the office, Reyes cursing behind him.

Madam Lacroix waits almost eagerly for Hanzo’s response. A spider at the center of its web, waiting for its prey to be ensnared. Hanzo decides to drop the apathetic façade, lets a sly smile form at the mention of Jesse. Playing a role that was no longer as false as it had been to begin with, a convenient cover for his presence and stay in LA.

“Yes.” Hanzo divulges no extra information, even though his mind wanders back to stroking a strong jaw, freshly shaved.

“Interested in a friendly wager?” Hanzo blinks slowly as he lifts his eyes to her. He wasn’t paying attention entirely. His mind had wandered further to when Jesse held his face in a tight grip, their mouths colliding, the pleasant weight of him atop Hanzo.  

“I made it clear I was not going to meddle in affairs—”

Even further, to hands tugging at clothing searching for skin.

“Yes, but this is just between us. Friends. It’s been insufferably dull."

Further still, the upward rolling of hips, a moan devoured hungrily—a head of green hair bobbing quickly through the crowd pulls an exasperated sigh from him. Typical. Always interrupting.

“An exhibition match hardly seems worth a bet. Besides, he will win.” Hanzo follows Genji as he moves toward an exit. Hanzo narrows his eyes, uncertainty worrying his brow. Genji stops when a woman crosses his path. They share a quick embrace, by her attire Hanzo presumes her association with Blackwatch. She gestures with her hands, shoulders rising, head tilting, inquiring. Genji smiles brightly, waves a pack of cigarettes in air then uses it to point to the exit.

“You are so certain?” Hanzo lifts an eyebrow as he turns his attention back to Madam Lacroix, satisfied with knowing which of Genji’s vices pulled him away. “His opponent is very strong.”

Hanzo checks his watch, perfect timing. He downs his drink, gin in the absence of sake.

“You and I both know precision beats power.” Her smile splits open as she laughs. He excuses himself, leaves her at the table. He steps up to the bar, setting the glass down firmly to announce his arrival. The pair of blue eyes rounding on him to their credit don’t widen or narrow. They hold steady as he orders another drink.

“It’s rude to stare, Detective.” The detective shifts slightly to face Hanzo squarely.

“I don’t believe we have been introduced.” The words are said slowly, with caution. Interesting. The relation between LAPD and Blackwatch was one way. Maybe Reyes did know who he was dealing with.

Hanzo lifts his glass, the insignia on his cufflink clearly visible along with a sliver of a tattooed wrist. Detective Morrison stiffens. “Hardly necessary. Enjoy the fight, Detective, as I’m sure you’ve enjoyed the recent quiet nights.” Over the speakers surrounding the boxing ring, the announcer informs the attendants of the starting bout. Hanzo tips his glass toward the detective before striding away.

Madam Lacroix politely claps with the crowd, as Hanzo takes his seat beside her, the boxing ring feet from them, a fighter warming up in the middle. Jesse isn’t the first fight of the night. Hanzo spots Reyes in what looks like a rather heated conversation with Detective Morrison. Interesting, indeed.

Jesse doesn’t enter the ring until the third bout, the rounds limited in number due to the nature of the event. The red satin robe flows behind him as he dips down between the ropes. He makes a show of footwork around the ring, flashy punches and a cocky grin thrown to the crowd. In his corner, Reyes stands in front of him, smoothing over the petroleum jelly on his face, Jesse nods to the words Reyes speak to him but his gaze is locked onto Hanzo. Hanzo returns it unabashed. Jesse gives him a wink.

“In the blue corner, coming in at six feet, five inches, two-hundred and ten pounds, Akande Ogundimu!”

Hanzo’s face snaps so quickly to the incoming fighter, Madam Lacroix looks at him curiously. 

“Problem?”

Hanzo fervidly searches the crowd. There. A man of similar build to Akande stands speaking with some executive type. Akinjide Adeyemi, member of Talon's upper echelon, doesn’t notice Hanzo’s fixed stare.   

“Potentially.”

_Ding!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to slim Akande down because dude is huge ingame. Seven feet tall!? How the hell did he find anyone in his weight class as a professional martial artist?


	12. Round 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabe has a busy day of trying to protect those he loves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took way longer than I would have liked. I got saddled with a ton of responsibility at work so my time was be limited. At least this chapter is long and Gabe focused.

“What are our options, Gabe?” Sombra stuffs a pair of gloves into a black duffel bag with the Blackwatch logo on the side. There are four other similar bags surrounding her feet. On the table gear lays in an orderly fashion. Two bags each for a fighter, one set for Fareeha, the other for Jesse. She picks up the three types of athletic tape twirling the thinner roll on her finger, waiting for Gabe to answer her. Gabe stacks a set of T-shirts in a plastic tub. Jesse holds out another stack to Gabe. The charity event is a promotional event for them. At the event they would be able to sell merchandise and hopefully get   new clients. Within high society, defense classes or security training were the services to push. Contracts of that type were high paying and good for the gym.

“Because I think Jessito here should play along since he already went and had, shall we call it, a moment of weakness?” Sombra continues impatient with Gabe’s lack of reply. Jesse’s face flushes red.

“I told you what happened, so we could figure out a plan to get out of this mess, not so you could hold it over my head every chance ya get, _Olivia_.” Sombra’s level of pissed off is set too high to be fazed by the use of her real name.

“Well I hope you cleaned up whatever mess you made or I’m never coming over again. It’s bad enough you’re a sucker for that pinche—” Jesse throws a shirt at her, she whips her arm out catching it, throwing it back at him with equal force.

Jesse holds the shirt to his chest, leaning forward toward her. “You act like not havin’ ya around ain’t a blessin’.” Gabe rolls his eyes. The words are said with a harsher bite than Jesse means. Sombra hasn’t let it go that Jesse didn’t tell her about his and Genji’s plan. She snaps snide remarks at him whenever the opportunity arises. He left Gabe while he was sick and her alone to bear the burden. Then he nearly _dies_ , her words, across the ocean away from his family. Her brother in all ways but blood. Her fury is righteous and justified. Jesse knows and takes her sharp worded jabs with little complaint. Most of the time. Gabe knows how much she looks up to Jesse, seeing that a second chance was possible for people like them.

With slow heavy steps, he drags the filled tub to the side, places an empty on in front of him to fill with sweat pants, hoodies and beanies. He keeps sorting items into the bins, lets them bicker. A sense of normalcy settles around him at their arguing. This is how it used to be. Unlike Jesse, who had to be dragged kicking and screaming to Blackwatch, Sombra just walked in one day and asked for a job. She had seen enough of the people around her die. She wanted a different life, a better life. She found out about Jesse somehow. To this day Gabe still doesn’t know how she finds out about half of the things she does. Gabe and Jesse weren’t the most tech savvy but they managed. Sombra coming along set them up to have a strong online presence within the boxing community. They gained new members and were constantly invited to do seminars on self-defense, exhibition matches for charities, and prize fighting events.

Over the years she shared with him and Jesse in quiet moments. Her favorite foster family. The kid who taught her how to do her hair and nails properly. After proving her worth she spilled the beans on her past criminal activity. She had a couple of run ins with Los Muertos, a few of the law. It wasn’t secret, but she didn’t advertise it. No glaring forearm tattoos that gave her away.  

After a while the two burned out, dropping into silence and shoving merchandise or gear into boxes or bags with anger fueled vigor and side long glares.

“We have to get them out of here.” Gabe finally says taking a handful of beanies from Jesse. He needs them to act as a team. They had done it before when local organizations attacked the gym. Seeing it as a headquarters for criminal activity. Didn’t matter how many charity events or fundraisers they did, some people needed an enemy and decided Blackwatch was their target. Another consistent battle was when a company wanted to buy the building Gabe owned so they could develop the area.

But this… was different. Gabe didn’t feel as if he was fighting for brick and mortar but rather the soul of his family. Especially with Jesse’s admission about what happened between him and the elder Shimada. Gabe had thought the days of Jesse’s tempting fate and playing with fire were done. Gabe thinks of his time with Jack, guess he can’t judge Jesse too harshly.

“What about Genji? He…he did right by me in Japan. Got me back home.” Genji. Another one trying to leave old ways in the past. Having seen it so many times, Gabe knew Genji was trying to change, turn his life around but his roots still showed to those who looked closely. The subtle signs of weening off a more than casual drug habit, a thinness that wasn’t connected to physical activity and healthy eating. An uncertainly of how to act in a group that accepted him simply because they enjoyed his company. Trying to shake off the conceited air around him. Friends who weren't vying for favors. Real friends that teased him openly and would even tell him no. His face showed his shock no matter how face he tried to cover it up. Friends who didn’t care about his wealth. Granted they knew he was from money, never would have thought it was to the extent of a criminal empire. All reasons why Gabe cautioned Jesse and Sombra to be careful with Genji. Genji needed the straight and narrow for a bit, to readjust. Gabe had no issue with Genji trying to turn a new leaf, even tried to help him along, but he brought his past troubles to shade Gabe’s doorstep.

“In a metal box used for human trafficking in his yakuza family business!” Which he did with Jesse’s help.

“He’s runnin’ and lookin’ for a place just like you did, Som. He ain’t keen on keepin’ ties with his family. Wants out. Hell almost was…” Gabe takes a deep breath. A perfect storm. Him getting sick. Him having loyal ex-criminals as family. Them with all the good intentions in the world of trying to help in the only way they knew how and with extremely poor judgement.

“What about Jack?” Gabe frowns down at the bin. He wants to go to Jack. His brothers in arms. Ally. Confidant. Past…love.

He misses him.

Them.

Together.

“He would have to take in you too, Jesse.” They need a plan. He needs a plan to keep everyone safe.

“I’m sure he can come up with some bullshit charge, pullin’ Hanzo into the station might just be enough to make him jet back to Japan.”

“I’ll talk to him.” Gabe lies. He doesn’t want to pull Jack into this. He doesn’t want to risk another person he cares for. He needs someone else to go to, someone he could convince it was in their best interest that Hanzo Shimada left the city. He knows who he can go to, just hates he is even considering it. It was always supposed to a last resort.

“In the meantime, keep it in your pants muchacho. If you can.” Gabe claps a heavy hand on Jesse’s back, giving him a smile.

Jesse grumbles as Gabe moves past him to set a bin to the side.

“Ah, pobrecito.” Sombra smacks Jesse cheek a few times before he gets out of her reach. “Maybe you shouldn’t start make out sessions with a crimelord, pendejo!”

“You two finish up. I have to run errands. No, I don’t need someone to drive me.” Gabe grabs at the cane leaning against the table. “Go drop the merch and gear off at the venue. The coordinator told me they will be setting up at least for another couple of hours. Jesse, your new shorts came in, they are in my office.”

On the way into the heart of the city, Gabe goes over all the ways his decision can blow up in his face. And what could be the fallout. Everything, he could lose everything. He parks, sitting and wringing the steering wheel in his hands for longer than he intends. Diminished cognitive abilities, a late stage symptom the doctors had told him. Great time for the reminder, he chides himself. Before questioning his own sanity became a larger consideration, Gabe steps out of the car. No, this was rational. He assures himself. This move. Desperate yes, but well thought out. No more reacting to what was happening to him or those around him. It was finally time to make a move of his own.

From the street no one could even guess the building was a modern-day brothel protected by blackmail and legal loopholes. Gabe has only been in this building once. He didn’t enjoy it then, definitely doesn’t enjoy it now. The grandeur puts him on edge rather than impresses him. This place was always enemy territory to him. Back straight, eyes set in disapproval he strides to the check-in counter.

“You have a reservation, sir?” A receptionist looks to him coldly. Trying to be polite but well prepared to have security throw Gabe out on his ass. So he picks his words wisely. Words that would get caught in a web. His words are steady and voice firm so he is heard clearly. 

“Tell Amélie, Gerard’s old friend Reyes would appreciate a moment of her time.” 

Drawing the spider out to investigate.

The receptionist’s eyes widen. Few dare to say the madam’s name, even less utter her dead husband’s. Quickly they press a phone to their ear. Gabe remains standing hoping her curiosity isn’t stunted by the ice in her veins.

“Sir, this way.” Small miracles.

Ushered into the elevator, he rides to the top floor with the receptionist. He wonders if Jesse had stood in the same elevator on the night of the dinner. Jesse still hadn’t told him about what happened fully. Connecting the dots was easy enough, especially after Jack visited. Shame held Jesse back. Gabe’s chest swelled with relief when Jesse finally started talking to him, wise enough to realize he couldn’t handle this on his own, coming to Gabe for help. Not everything was detailed, that was okay. Enough was said.

Through a set of double doors, he is gestured to enter a side room presenting him to Madam Lacroix. She sits, her elbow braced on the deep ebony wood table, fingers tracing the rim of the half-filled short stemmed wine glass. “What an exciting day. Gerard’s old _friend_ coming to visit. What can I do for you, Monsieur Reyes?”

Gabe remembers when she was a dancer. Classically trained ballerina. Graceful. When she was kidnapped. Jack never forgave himself. Gerard never forgave him either.

He takes a seat ignoring the guards standing along the door he just passed. “A deal.”

“You want to make a deal, with me?” She skimmed the edge of the glass with her finger. “Are you sure?”

“Hanzo Shimada needs to leave.”

She tilts her head to the side, the long pony tail swaying slightly by the movement. Gabe’s back stays ramrod straight, hands clasped over the top of his cane, continuing. “I imagine some well-placed mentions that the head of Shimada clan isn’t overseeing the operations of his empire might be interesting to some. That he is busy shacking up with some American streetfighter his brother plucked up on a whim.”

“I imagine it would be of great interest to some, as I’m sure Monsieur Shimada is well aware.” She languidly lifts her glass, takes a sip setting it back down in a definitive clink. “Which is why the he and I already have an arrangement.” Gabe had wondered, considered the possibility with the snippets from Hanzo about the dinner and Jack’s reveal of the dead syndicate lieutenant and what the terrified informants said. Few people held the type of sway in L.A. to keep everyone on their best behavior. Madam Lacriox was one of the few who could singularly stop the gangs in their tracks with the narrowing of her eyes. Whatever Hanzo is offering must be substantial, she has to be losing business. But Gabe held onto something she has wanted for a long time.

“I will tell you how you were set up to kill your husband. If you get the Shimadas out of town as fast as possible.” Her finger stutters across the rim, the only indication of her shock. Years have passed since she killed Gerard, but she has never moved past it. Quietly she continued to prod and poke for information even now. “That’s what I’m offering. I’m sure you can think of a way for these arrangements to not interfere with one another.”

Gabe is up and almost out of the room when she replies.

“Agreed.”

Now he just had to be patient.

Gabe drives to the venue to meet up with the Blackwatch crew helping with the set up. Tries to not think about the deal he just made with a devil.

At the venue he sees Genji storming out of the loading dock making his way to Jesse who is busily unloading the truck. They don’t notice Gabe. Jesse caught by surprise from Genji, Genji too focused on Jesse to see Gabe smoothly sidestep out of view into the shadow of a catering truck.

“I told you to stay away from Hanzo, Jesse!” Genji smacks Jesse in the arm. Gabe lets out a huff of humor. Warned by so many and yet Jesse still couldn’t help himself. “Those were my exact words. Stay away from Hanzo.”

“I know! Ain’t like it’s gonna happen again with ya’ll breathing down my neck. Plus your brother is a blue-balling asshole.” Intrigue has Gabe peek out just enough to see Jesse push a box into Genji, who nearly misses grabbing the box.

“What?” Genji asks dumbstruck.

“He left. We were, y’know…” Gabe hears a box get set down strongly enough that the contents rattle as Jesse details what happened to Genji. Details that were left out from when Jesse told Gabe and Sombra. “But then he just left me there. Walked out without so much as a backwards glance.” Gabe makes out the anger tinged with embarrassment in Jesse’s words. He had been played and knows it. Gabe closes his eyes and shakes his head. Damnit Jesse.   

“You’re a plaything to him Jesse. Something to use against me. Hanzo doesn’t care about anyone. He just uses people to get what he wants.” Genji sighs heavily, a small thunk tells Gabe he set the box down. “I’m sorry.”

“Ain’t your fault.” Genji mutters something about Sombra being right and Jesse chuckles.

“It is my fault. I should have been more careful when we went to Japan.”

“What should I do? Som says I should play along…”

“No. Stay away from him. Just…stay away from him if you can.” It was almost a plea.

“Yeah, sure thing.” For a beat they spend the time moving boxes around. Gabe almost reveals himself when Genji clears his throat.

“Anyway, the guy you’re fighting—”

“Yeah, yeah. Gabe looked him up. Ain't ever fought someone with his style but I ain’t worri—”

“No that’s not what I—Jesse, he is like you, he fights for a syndicate. A group called Talon, I think. He’s new but our families have known each other for a while.” Genji’s voice has an edge to it, imparting the importance of the information he tells Jesse.

Gabe hears the creak from the truck when Jesse takes a seat at the back of the truck making it dip slightly. “Ah hell.” Gabe’s head hangs. Ah hell, is right. With a side of damn it all.

“I don’t think he knows about you though…” The words are spoken with less confidence.

“We can call off the fight. Say I pulled a muscle, ate somethin’ that made me sick. Saw a food truck a few blocks back.” Jesse offers.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea. Akande might not know about you but that doesn’t mean his boss won’t. I didn’t tell Hanzo. I don’t want him thinking they set this up on purpose. He’ll go hunting for blood if he thinks he is being defied.” The dinner deal, Gabe remembers. 

“Well ain’t this a mighty fine shit show. Gabe ain’t gonna like this one bit.” He doesn’t. 

“We shouldn’t tell him. He doesn’t need this. You just have to win.” They continue talking as they walk into the building. 

Gabe walks in after them, letting a few minutes pass. Genji isn’t wrong. Gabe doesn’t need extra variables to stress him out. Luckily nothing changes with what he just set into motion. Shit show indeed.

The late afternoon is busy with setting up their booth. Talking to the judges about the fights. Fareeha would be after Jesse. There would only be four rounds. A show for the crowd, the judges say. So it’s okay to be a bit flashy. Fareeha nudges an elbow at Jesse’s side with a wide smile. Jesse wiggles his brows up and down at her. Gabe sends them home to rest up. When he leaves hours later, he spots Amélie chatting with the director of the event.

The next day the gym is closed. A sign affixed to the door suggesting for members to attend the event, to show support for the gym. Gabe’s morning starts rough. Little bit of blood in the cough that shakes his frame. A headache he wrangles into a dull throb. At least today his stomach doesn’t betray him. Able to get the breakfast Jesse and Sombra make down without incident. They rush about getting the last few things for the fight ready. They need another table. Fareeha‘s favorite gloves weren’t packed. Jesse forgot his new shorts in the office. Collectively they do their best to ignore the now permanent knot of stress of having the Shimadas in their lives.

Hours later Gabe walks through the crowd to the locker room, having just handed the reigns over to Sombra and Lena at the booth, since Genji was missing and the first fight was about to start. He is spun on his heel when a hand snags the inside of his elbow. Everything tilts just a little for a second. His eyes rest on Jack’s face, his lips are pressed into nonexistence, a white-knuckle grip on Gabe’s hoodie sleeve.

“You need to tell me what is going on. Now.” Gabe bunches his brows together. Before he could even ask what Jack was talking about. Before he could play dumb regardless of what is said, Jack presses on. “It’s McCree isn’t it?” Gabe’s eyes narrow.  His shoulders stiffen, yanking Jack’s hand off him. A consistent point of contention between them.

“He did this didn’t he? He went underground again, didn’t he? Owes money?” Jack never approved of Jesse. Always saw him as an ex-gang member. Always would. “I can help Gabe. He is messing around with Japanese mafia.”

“He isn’t messing around with anything.” Gabe bites back. “I don’t—” Jack barrels over his attempt to defend himself with half truths and out right lies.

“He is going to get you killed Gabe.” The fear shaking Jack’s words stabs Gabe in the chest. But he can’t have Jack pulled into this. He can’t.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, _Detective._ Last I checked, I wasn’t your responsibility.” Jack’s face falls from fearful on his behalf to wounded, turning to the side looking away. It’s for his own good, Gabe tells himself. To keep Jack safe, apart from the disaster going on in Blackwatch. Throwing a cop into the mix will not help anyone. If anything, it would cause the situation to explode.

_Ding!_

Jack’s jaw clenched to stop from saying anything else. He gives Gabe one last pleading look. Gabe meets his eyes but doesn’t budge.  

“I have work to do.” Gabe says turning away from the one person he wants to reach for the most.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not happy per se with this chapter but its over and done with and I can now move on to things I want to get to. Thanks for sticking around!


	13. Round 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's get ready to rumble!!!! Jesse and Akande go toe to toe in the ring. But the ring isn't the only place all the action is happening. Genji has some things to take care of before hand. After, Hanzo has his hands full.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to get this done weeks ago but life is life.  
> Thank you for being patient. 
> 
> No beta. Enjoy!

_“Hey, hey, hey! This is Lúcio Correia dos Santos coming at you. Joining me for this next fight to practice her shout casting is Haaaaaana Soooong! Ha-ha, listen to those cheers!”_

_“Hiya, everyone! It’s great to be here!”_

Genji pushes his way back to the exit he took earlier. He doesn’t have a lot of time. Jesse’s fight is next, and Gabe expects Genji in the corner with him to help keep an eye on things. However, there were other priorities for Genji. He needs to get back to the side alley. After nearly a month of planning, the meet could finally happen.

_"Now Ms. Song I heard from a little bird you’ve already got your favorite fighters picked out for the night.”_

_“Well of course! Blackwatch Boxing keeps me in shape during the off season! Even as a gamer I have to stay in top physical condition. The trainers there will make sure your reflexes are lightning fast!”_

The door clicks shut severing all sound from the side alley. The day before subtle glances down the alley from the loading dock while Genji helped unload the truck gave him a small preview of the future meeting point. Earlier in the night, Genji checked out the alley under the guise of getting a quick smoke in before the fights started. Form a routine, stick to it, and no one will question it when it was used as a cover. Genji thinks Father would be at least slightly amused about how he is using the skills he learned from the family in this manner. He had given Fareeha a wave as he passed the Blackwatch table. She rolled her eyes and called him an addict. She had stopped him earlier in the night. He gave her a lopsided grin and a wink. At least Lena and Emily laughed.

Like both instances before, it was completely empty. And surprisingly clean. For appearance’s sake he lit a cigarette. Genji is well accustomed to back and side alleys, this one lacked the permeating scents of vomit, rot and piss. The dumpster bins carefully aligned further back towards the loading dock. Posters and graffiti cover the walls, a mural higher up could be viewed unobscured from buildings all around. Genji dug his phone out. No messages. Two minutes before the jagged edges digging into his insides from weeks of dread, stress, and sneaking around could finally recede. He paces just a bit. Two minutes. Just wait two more minutes. Hand over the data chip and sit back. He was nearly there. He thanked his ancestors, nameless gods, and the first pachimari plush he ever received. This was good, he told himself firmly, after tonight he would be set. Good thing too since Genji was running out of ways to prolong his and subsequently Hanzo’s presence in LA.

The accountant had finished washing most of Jesse’s money nearly a week ago with maybe two more weeks left to finish the whole amount. Genji told the accountant to not make the transfer until later. _Later_ was coming up faster than Genji liked. Genji expected once the transfer was done Hanzo would leave. Call the ordeal complete and Jesse’s service to the family paid out. Regardless of his adamant claim of him not leaving without Genji, he would undoubtedly leave. The family wouldn’t allow Hanzo’s absence for much longer. How he had evaded their ire this far amazed Genji. Fighting against Hanzo’s desire for him to return to Hanamura coupled with Jesse’s payment and recovery was enough to hold Hanzo in place. But time was no longer on his side. Jesse is recovered, his prize money almost cashed out. Hanzo would demand Genji would return, Genji would refuse. They would fight and Hanzo would leave. Genji would stay. For this new deal to work out how he planned, he needed Hanzo to stay in LA. In any other circumstance he would happily let Hanzo leave, especially now that Hanzo has his eyes on Jesse. Genji is on the verge of rethinking his whole plan for the umpteenth time when he hears steps coming toward him.

Finally. Genji’s back straightens out, chin juts out just a bit relief swelling in his chest. Once this was done with he would be able to get back to the life he was beginning. He would figure out a better way to repay Jesse, Gabe, and Sombra. He could start moving forward. Empty his own accounts and a place that would be his own. He never owned a residence before. An exciting venture that made him puff out a quiet laugh. He was excited about paying a mortgage, how things have changed. Coming to Blackwatch might have been the best decision he has ever made. The people he met. The family he became apart of. Sure at the moment things were…tense but once this deal was done and Jesse was paid things would be great. He could finally have the conversation with a certain someone he had been meaning to have for a long time. A smile sneaked its way onto his lips, remembering a bouncing blonde ponytail as laughter filled the air after he made a joke. Eyes closed, he lets a puff of smoke out in a large cloud around him. Yes, after tonight things would finally start to look up.  

“I can’t tell you how glad I am this finally—” His excited tone drops when his eyes fall on the face coming up the alley. The relief in his chest gives way to shock.

Coincidence. It must be a coincidence. The person walking down the alley was sent by Fareeha. Or Lena. Maybe Sombra. Or Jesse. Gabe. Anyone. Or perhaps they were looking for the truck. They needed something from the truck and just saw him. And…

Genji is about to play it coy. About to split his face with a bright grin, lit cigarette dangling between his lips. Like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t, relying on his boyish charm. But his heart is breaking to quickly for him to recover. All that runs through his mind are a series of questions. _How long? Was it all a play? Was any of it…real?_

Any last shred of hope that maybe just maybe this is just a coincidence, is snuffed out when Angela stops a few feet from him and says, “Mercy for the sparrow.”

The predetermined phrase to be used so Genji knew who he was meeting was legitimate. He thought it was dumb. He thought he knew who he was going to be meeting.

The cigarette is flicked then ground into the cement with his toe.  He should have known things were too good to be true. He almost lets out a bark of laughter. That everyone was upfront with him. That he wouldn’t have to watch his back in his new home. Idiot. Should have known.

So much for that conversation.

 

_“--next fight of the night. We have local fighter Jesse McCree out of Blackwatch Boxing facing off Akande Ogundimu hailing from Nigeria a newcomer to the US boxing scene although a very established martial arts fighter.”_

Gabe scowls at Genji when he appears. Jesse nudges him getting Genji to tilt his face up. “You okay?” A wide but empty smile that doesn’t reach his eyes forms on Genji’s face. He nods giving him a thumb’s up.

“Don’t worry about me! You got much bigger things to worry about.” He claps Jesse on the back, yelling over the announcer. He’s right. Akande has about four inches and twenty pounds on him. A few more weeks of recovery with friends from the gym bringing over cooking like they had been would have closed that gap right up.

Jesse begins to bounce from foot to foot waiting for his name to be called by the ring announcer. Thumping his gloved hands together. The red silk robe swishing around his calves.

Around him the crowd was clapping and cheering. Sounds soaking into his bones. Steadily adrenaline begins to fill his veins. The chill spreading down his limbs. Jesse sinks into it. A wave of exhilaration sweeps through him.  Rolling his shoulders, Jesse lets the high take him just a bit. Just enough to get his kicks, a bit of a fix. A taste. A tease. A fragment of a slice of a part of his mind whispers for more.

His name vibrates the speakers, a genuine call of a siren. Jesse steps out into the flood lights willingly.

The walk to the ring is always faster than he expects. He’s always dipping through the ropes before he knows it and moving around the ring. Punching the air. A bit of flexing and posing. Always the showmen.

Been a good solid minute since he felt this. This heavenly rush. The closest thing to it had been the tussle with Hanzo. Best moment of weakness he’s ever had, at least until the asshole pushed him aside and strode out the apartment.

Back in his corner, Gabe gets him set and he spots Hanzo instantly. Boldly returning his gaze. And while he understands to the fullest extent of his mental capacity, Hanzo is, as Genji says, toying with him. Right now, in this moment with his blood laced with a self-induced high and fists itching to hit, a single thought rolls around and over his mind. _Fuck staying away, two can play at that game._

Akande comes into the ring gracefully for a man his size. He is good natured, smiling and waving. Called to the center, the two listen to the ref explain the rules again. Jesse is still shifting his weight from foot to foot. Four inches and twenty pounds. Jesse gives a lopsided grin. Ain’t anything different from toeing up to Reinhardt. Jesse chews his mouth guard. Skin tingling from the buzz of excitement. They are released to their corners. Gabe swipes his forehead one last time. Says something about something. Jesse doesn’t hear him. Mainly the sound of voice is to ground him. Remind him to keep himself together. To remember his training. To not come out the gate fast and hard then burn out three minutes in.

_Ding!_

Dancing foot to foot to the ring’s center Jesse offers his glove, Akande taps it with a nod cool, all sportsmanship like.

A left cross, a right hook, right jab. Akande blocks them all. A left cross, two right jabs. Blocked. Jesse keeps to the basics. Feeling Akande out. Akande circles, heavy on his feet. Jesse goes for body shots next. Akande takes a few of the hits gauging Jesse’s strength. The hits are softer than he is sure Akande was prepared for. The look he sees cross Akande’s face is almost disappointment. Akande throws out a right cross. Jesse lifts his arms in time to block. The power behind the hit sends a flag of warning up in his mind. Don’t get caught by that right hand. Nothing but his doom waits behind that fist. The left jabs at Jesse and it doesn’t take much to dodge out of the way. Jesse sees the struggle of having the power to delivery a hit worthy of Reaper himself but lacks the technique. The finesse. Still too new to the game to maneuver as well as he wants. Jesse doesn’t help the matter when he weaves, bobs, feints, and slides out of every strike Akande throws his way. Jesse taunts just a bit. Doing a jig, swatting away the incoming gloves with ease. To his credit Akande is a good sport about it. It almost becomes a game between the two. It’s almost fun.

_Ding!_

Jesse drops onto the stool. Genji squirts water from a bottle into his mouth, swaps for a bucket to catch what Jesse spits out. Gabe talks to him. Fighting flat footed. Doesn’t have the dance in him.  Trying to open Jesse up with body shots, hooking to pry him open, the jabs to put him down.  Don’t let him get in. Stay in close to that left shoulder. Stay on the outside. Jesse nods along, eyes drifting back to Hanzo. He and the Madam now have company. Two men. Jesse taps Genji, jutting his chin toward Hanzo with pinched eyebrows. Genji curses. The ref signals for the next round.

_Ding!_

Akande charges out of the corner straight for Jesse. Caution thrown to the wind. Play time is officially over. A hop to the side and Akande’s right fist hits air. Jesse bends his knees and pounds into the exposed side. Fists thundering, Jesse pushes forward forcing Akande onto the ropes. The ref pulls them apart, resetting the two. Akande moves to him and Jesse dips low pushing his left fist straight into Akande’s gut. Quickly Akande missteps, muscle memory not used to the rules of a boxing ring. He ducks and pivots away to avoid an elbow that will never come. And opens his entire right to Jesse’s southpaw again. Jesse plants two solid hits, then fakes a third, using the momentum to bounce further to the side, almost behind Akande. Allowing Jesse to swing a single hit to Akande’s temple. Akande leans away just enough to not take the full force of the strike. Jesse has him rattled now. Showing just how out classed he is in Jesse’s domain. Jesse sees the dangerous spark of wanting to meet a challenge in Akande’s eyes.

_Ding!_

Something ain’t right. Genji is gone. Gabe levels with Jesse planted on the small stool, filling his sight. Face tight. Lips forming words Jesse never thought would be uttered in the corner of a ring. _Line’em up._ Jesse recoils back. He can’t be meaning what he’s saying, at least that’s what Jesse hopes. To cut loose, let the colors of the world fade to greys, blacks and whites, place six hits that were meant for one thing. He could pull the punches back lessening the damage. Not one of the best ideas when it comes to safe practices while in the ring. Gabe’s head cants to the side, telling Jesse he knows what’s going on in the ringside seats. Genji stands next to Hanzo hand on Hanzo’s shoulder, grip tight to hold him in place. Hanzo’s face blank but Jesse notices the clenching and unclenching of his left fist, just like when they were in the car so many weeks ago. Hanzo is furious. Shit. Gabe cleans him up and leaves him with three more words. _End the match._

_Ding!_

Buckle up.  
  
This time around it’s Jesse that rushes from the corner. Jesse as a southpaw has one goal while boxing. Keep his opponent off balance. He will fake or feint strikes to enable him to constantly be on his opponent’s outside. He’d fake a hook to make them duck, place a glove on their head and guide them around so he can move into position. He rolls under left hooks, slips inside left jabs and pivots at right crosses. Akande is spinning on his heels and back pedaling to keep Jesse from getting behind him. A fake cross has Akande move just where Jesse wants him. The sound of the crowd, the white of the canvas mat becomes even brighter, everything slows. Jesse falls into a hyper awareness. He singles out the six shots he could take but just takes one.

Akande’s head snaps to the side, Jesse’s red glove driven into the side of his brow just shy of his temple.

A clean head shot.

Akande drops.

The announcer is screaming, _“I can’t believe it! He’s hit canvas! I simply just can’t believe it!”_

_Ding! Ding! Ding!_

“Your fighter is very good. I’m surprised the young Ogundimu could be taken down so swiftly.” The words are spoken with a measured level of false disbelief and smugness. Hanzo held the crystal glass in his hand tightly. After Jesse’s victory and a few more fights, Hanzo and Madame Lacriox had been invited to a private lounge by Akande Ogundimu’s… sponsors.

“Surely, you did not doubt Monsieur Shimada’s choice in fighters?” She grasps the nearly empty wine glass, her voice carrying a lilt of enjoyment at the not so subtle bait being placed.

“Of course not, Madame Lacroix. Although I wasn’t aware the Shimada Empire had delved into such activities.”

“A brief stint, I assure you, Maximilien. I thought I made that clear upon my arrival.” Hanzo keeps his tone ice cold. No room for further inquiries. Waves of agitation rolling off him.

“Crystal.”

“Then why are you and your associates here ruining my evening? I am not here to do business.”

“Akande still works under his family’s business. You’ve heard of them I’m sure. This was merely a stop on a planned trip to show him what Talon has to offer. Unfortunate timing. The fight was an obligation to his family’s charity dealings.” Maximilien’s hand waves dismissively in the air.

In the seat across from Madam Lacriox, Akinjide Adeyemi sat showing just as much discontent as Hanzo feels.

“We apologize. We meant no disres—” Maximilien begins as he pours wine into Madam Lacriox’s glass. His gaze and apology cut off.

“He wouldn’t last a minute in a real fight.” Hanzo allows his eyes to narrow at Akinjide to his left.

“Do not start Akinjide.” Maximilien says with no force behind the words.

“In a real fight, without gloves and the safety net of rules, your _boytoy_ wouldn’t stand a chance.”

Madame Lacriox’s eyes jump between Hanzo’s deep set scowl and Akinjide looking down his nose at the rest of the table. Hanzo wrangles the coiling anger in his gut before he speaks. Just barely.

“Perhaps you should learn to take a loss with humility.” Hanzo speaks louder and with an air of well-practiced contempt. Hanzo’s patience had vanished when the pair had approached their seats during the fight. He had made a clear and pointed effort to ensure he remained unbothered during his stay. Genji even came over to check on the situation knowing Hanzo had assured Reyes that nothing would come of Jesse taking a fight.  
  
He would not be made a liar.

“Rather than behave like the scourge you are, trying to goad others into a fight so you can prove your superiority. Even those who are second best can show class. Clearly you are neither.” The crash is loud and jarring, glassware flies into the air as the table flips. Maximilien pulls Madame Lacriox to him, safely out of the way when Akinjide swings his arm wide towards Hanzo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I beefed Jesse up because I stressed over weight classes for days and while the fight is exhibition it still bugged me that there was a huge difference between the two. So I put them both in the heavyweight class even thought it doesn't matter really but it still BUGS ME A TON. 
> 
> BTW I noticed a mistake in the last chapter so that got fixed. Has to do with me not paying attention to what I pasted back into a paragraph. Nothing big a wrong sentence when Gabe was thinking about Genji.
> 
> Finally got around to expanding the AU [ Blackwatch Boxing ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13757553/chapters/31616832) follows Gabe and Jack before this shit storm happened.


	14. Round 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fighting is never over. The paths are ever changing and must be tread carefully. Everyone is just trying to survive the chaos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Life has been really challenging lately so this got pushed to the back burner. Adjusting to new meds and a heavier workload has been a bitch. But things are getting back on track and I was finally able to get this chapter out. Thank you for being patient with the lack of updates and as always for your wonderful comments. Going back and reading through them really helped me during my slump <3
> 
> No beta.

Akande seems larger out of the ring. It might be his low rumbling laugh that vibrates the air. A personality that fits his size but unlike with boisterousness of Reinhardt, Akande’s presence although quiet is still noticed by those around him. On their way to the elevator people parted and looked his way without seemingly to think about it. Drawn unconsciously to his aura of near royalty.

It made Jesse’s skin crawl. Puts him on guard.

Genji’s shoulder dips when Akande claps his hand on it, laughing at the joke Genji is making about something or another. Jesse stands next to them with a polite smile plastered to his face as they ride the elevator. Reminds Jesse of having to pick out the most dangerous person in a room, every room he entered. Akande would instantly make the short list. In a lot of ways, Akande is like Hanzo. Intelligent eyes always assessing. Looking for angles of attack and points of weakness. Jesse lets Genji draw Akande’s attention, trying to play the part of simple fighter in a complicated situation. Close enough to the truth he supposed.

“I almost thought I was mistaken when I saw you at the café, Genji. I definitely wasn’t expecting your brother to also be in the city. What convinced him away from your family’s estate?”

Jesse didn’t get a chance to see Shimada castle on their trip. Not that he minded, he didn’t want to get entangled anymore than he had too. He looks down with a rueful smile. Surely his actions in another life are at blame. The current predicament had him riding up to meet Akande’s associates, in a lounge apparently where Hanzo and Madam Lacroix were invited to as well and were currently being entertained. Both he and Genji tried to get out of it. Jesse had just barely finished toweling off from a quick rinse when Genji passed along the request with clenched jaw and deep frown.

“No. This is a bad idea, Genji.”

“I know this isn’t a good idea, but we can’t risk tipping off Gabe or pissing off Akande’s… plus his family’s business is legitimate even if he isn’t. Could be a good—”

“Damnit Genji! Gabe ain’t gonna give two shits about the gym gettin’ a contract! Not if it means diggin’ the hole we’re already in even deeper.” Jesse snapped back, throwing the towel resting around his neck to ground. He turns on his heel to find his shirt in his duffle bag. Slamming the bag onto the bench from its spot on the top of the lockers. Genji stays silent while Jesse puts it on his still damp skin, it sticking to him in places. Adding to his agitation. He presses the heel of his palm into his left eye. He hadn’t used his… skill in a while and even though it was just for a one hit it still smarts more than it usually would. In turn it has made Jesse a bit grumpier than usual.

“It’s not like I asked for this Jesse. I don’t… I’m doing my best.” Jesse’s shoulders slumped at Genji’s quiet words. Jesse apologized for his harsh tone, taking the towel Genji picked up into his hands. They came up with a plan to not get thrown into any other plans that weren’t of their own making. Be polite but refuse everything. Don’t get put into a corner. Drawn into any schemes.

Jesse followed Genji out of the locker and told Gabe, he was going to get a drink with his opponent. Gabe didn’t even look up from the bin he was sorting, throwing out a warning to not get in trouble. Maybe it was because he was already on edge that set off some flags in Jesse’s mind. It’s not like Jesse didn’t do this during past fights, the few he had. He panicked thinking Gabe had a reason worry about trouble. Gabe not looking up, avoid Jesse’s eye, didn’t help matters. Genji pulled him away before he could ask what was wrong. He was dragged to the elevator brows furrowed and aching for a smoke to work out the tension in his jaw.

“Hanzo decided he liked what he saw in my new friend and took him for himself. Typical older brother. Stealing my things.” Genji goes with the cover Hanzo started at the dinner. He shakes Jesse’s shoulder with a hand. Jesse gives a tighter smile and shrug as if to say what’s a man to do. Akande hums, eyes roving over Jesse’s features.

“Never thought I would see the day where he would sink to your level of frivolity, friend.” Jesse laughs to cover the darkness that flashes over Genji’s face.

“Hanzo doesn’t do anythin’ on a whim, pardner. I would even venture to say he doesn’t rightly even know how to. Does what he wants, when he wants. He ain’t likely to waste any of his time on anything frivolous.”  

 The elevator dings. Their false smiles falter then fall when they hear shouting and a loud crash. The trio hurry to the double doors to the lounge. Akande reaches it first throwing the door open wide, large frame blocking the view into the room. Genji keeps a hand near the small of his back and falls into a stance Jesse knows he didn’t learn that Blackwatch.

Akande finally moves aside giving Genji and Jesse a clear view.

Past an upturned table leaning against a canted couch of a seating area and shattered glassware stands Hanzo with his back to a tall wooden bar counter, in front of him is a man with a similar build to Akande outlined from the city lights from the wide window on the wall. Both have their fists raised. Hanzo has lost his jacket and vest, left in his white tailored shirt stretching snuggly across his broad chest, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, suspenders hanging by his thighs. The man across from Hanzo has his face twisted in anger. A snarl that calls for annihilation.  

Genji moves to shoot through the door but Jesse grips his arm to hold him back. Hanzo uses Akande calling out as the perfect time to attack.

Hanzo’s strikes are precise. Each one has a singular purpose. Picking off all means of attack. To disable. A shoulder is slammed out from its socket. A knee buckles under the weight it carries. An eye is no longer able to open. The man’s lungs can’t push against the current of blood flowing from his nose to allow air through. Hanzo lunges forward again for another flurry of strikes. Jesse watches transfixed by the speed Hanzo delivers six hits. Left and right hooks to the ribs. Uppercut to the chin, left cross to the jaw. A shift in his weight feinting a right cross brings his foot the outside of the mans knee, it collapses completely from the earlier assault. The final kick ends with Hanzo’s heel straight in the man’s sternum. Sputtering the man takes a step back. Hanzo leaps to finish the fight.

Akande’s fist slams into Hanzo’s side mid-air. The thud of impact soaks into the room.

Genji flies through Jesse’s grasp. He springs up and steps off the back of a couch to flip over Akande. Genji lands between Hanzo and Akande, a small blade held in a reverse grip in his hand. Hanzo rises to his feet, breaths shallow. Face grimacing in pain.

The pause brings motion from the other side of the ruined seating area. Jesse seems a second man standing with Madam Lacroix.

“Akinjide, you have lost your mind! Akande help him. Monsieur Shimada—”

“You were always sniveling weasel Maximilien.” Jesse sucks in breath and waits. The tension in the room twists a notch tighter. It holds even with the click of heels on the wooden floor. Madam Lacroix saunters into the middle of the room.

“The invitation to this evening’s affair was out of fondness, Maximilien. Due to your company’s lack of etiquette, it would be best to take your leave, mon cher.”

“Of course. My sincerest apologies.” The well dress man, Maximilien, steps toward Madam Lacroix, lifts her hand to kiss then snaps his head to Akande and the other man.

“It would behoove you to listen for once Akinjide. Gentlemen we are leaving.” Akande ushers Akinjide to the doors, Maximilien follows their progress, turning his head as they pass.

It’s quiet. Nearly a whisper. Barely a murmur but Jesse still hears it when they walk by him. “Antonio will not be pleased.”

 

Hanzo simmers in his anger the entire ride back to his hotel. Genji for the first time in a long time decides to be cautious around his brother. Hanzo refuses to see the physician on staff at the hotel. But allows Genji to take his shirt off and inspect his side, face and hands for injury. He had taken a few hits before the two had arrived. A cut on his cheek had crusted over with dried blood. He also nicked his tongue when Akande caught him in the air. He is lucky he didn’t land on his wrists or neck. Jesse left to get ice and some medical supplies he keeps stocked in his vehicle once he and Genji carried Hanzo into the room. They left the exhibition venue out the back with Madam Lacroix leading the way. She was prepared to provide them a driver but Genji and Jesse refused. They didn’t want to owe her even the slightest of favors. Although Hanzo saw it as the refusal of a poor gesture of an apology. The glare he gave her as they departed spoke for him.

Her services were no longer required.

“We are leaving. Tomorrow.” Hanzo grits out between clenched teeth as soon as Jesse had left.

“I can’t leave…Jesse’s money—“

“Will be transferred regardless of your presence.”

“I’m not going back.” Genji rises to his feet, stepping back. Hanzo narrows his eyes at his brother’s defiance.

“Very well. Then the cowboy is coming with me.”

“He won’t leave.”

“He will when I tell him his family’s safety depends on it.”

“You don’t need him other than to fuck with me. Besides, Talon wouldn’t dare go against the clan. I wouldn’t be surprised if tomorrow they give you his head on a plate.” Genji’s attempt to try to get Hanzo to see reason is shortsighted. Talon wouldn’t move against him after this, Akinjide acted on his own accord gauging by his associate’s reaction, but Talon’s response was only part of the problem. His gut reaction urged him to regroup and prepare for retaliation. Not to the clan’s holdings or ventures. But to what he cares for the most. Who he cares for, is starting to care for. How he wished he didn’t care for anyone.

“We aren’t going anywhere. We—" Hanzo quakes, letting his rage about everything spilling out of his mouth. His ignorant, ungrateful brother braces himself.

“We? It’s _we_ now, that your _friend_ is involved!? It has never been _we_ for your family! Your brother!” Hanzo snarls, flecks of blood from his mouth nearly land on Genji’s face. Hanzo pulls back out of Genji’s space and slumps into the chair, hissing in pain from the outburst. His ribs must be bruised if not cracked.

“Two days.”

“I am not going back.” Genji remains unmoved, fists clenched at his sides.

“Self-centered child.” Hanzo spits the blood pooling from the reopened cut in his mouth onto the ground.

The lock on the door beeps, accepting Jesse into the room.

“I can wrap your ribs with this. Also got some ice to—”

“You have two days to get your affairs in order. We are returning to Japan.”

“I hav’ta what now?”

“Remaining here puts your family at risk.”

“Then I’m stayin’!”

“No one is staying! Your family will be protected. They will not be bothered.”

“Like how you weren’t bothered? Talon might come lookin’ for revenge.” Jesse sneers back. “Yer whole big bad boss man schtick got thrown out the window.”

“There was a fight. Between the head of the Shimada-gumi and an upper member of Talon.” Hanzo pauses to take the time to look both square in the eye. “A fight we _both_ walked away from with our lives.”

Hanzo watches the realization dawn on their faces. A transgression of this sort requires repentance from Talon. Or else the Shimada-gumi is forced into action. The Shimada-gumi has never been one for half-measures. The door opened for others to take their shot at Hanzo in hopes to kill the head of an international criminal enterprise without consequence had to be closed.

Swiftly and firmly.

No one wants a war.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took me forever to figure out Hanzo fighting.....
> 
> word crashed during a round of edits. too tired. please accept my errors.


End file.
